


Window Seat

by AndHerFlowers



Series: Fateful Coincidences [1]
Category: Julie and The Phantoms (TV)
Genre: Aged Up, Airport AU, F/M, Fear of Flying, Living!AU, Panic Attacks, alex and reggie are friends, bobby is cool, cursing, julie doesn't know the guys, julie has a successful solo career, luke and bobby are friends, partially inspired by a random christmas movie, the pairs don't know eachother, they're 18/19 ish here, they're at orly airport because it's one of the few ones i've been to and actually REMEMBER, tw: panic attack
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-10
Updated: 2020-12-19
Packaged: 2021-03-10 02:15:46
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 9
Words: 20,775
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27996630
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AndHerFlowers/pseuds/AndHerFlowers
Summary: Window seats have forever been ruined for me. // There is a cute guy sitting next to me.
Relationships: Alex & Julie Molina, Alex & Julie Molina & Luke Patterson & Reggie, Alex/Willie (Julie and The Phantoms), Bobby | Trevor Wilson & Luke Patterson, Carlos Molina & Julie Molina, Flynn & Julie Molina, Flynn & Julie Molina & Carrie Wilson, Flynn/Carrie Wilson, Julie Molina/Luke Patterson, Luke Patterson & Reggie (Julie and The Phantoms)
Series: Fateful Coincidences [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2066970
Comments: 150
Kudos: 293





	1. Julie

**Author's Note:**

> hi! this is stupid and fluffy and has no substance but i like writing it. not beta'd because. because i trust myself? no. i don't know. because i wrote this five minutes ago and wanted to post it. if there are mistakes, that's why. if it sucks, we'll pretend that's why. but enjoy.  
> also this is clearly a multichap but not a long one. i'm thinking six to eight is chapters about as long as this one but we shall see how it goes. i'll update when i update and i'm terrible at it. might be a day. might be two months. if you like it it will probably give me motivation to write. i'm simple like that.

JULIE

Window seats have forever been ruined for me.

It only took a single flight, LAX to San Juan Airport, to replace the excited feeling previously associated with it, with pure dread.

I used to love window seats on planes. Flying frequently in my childhood, visiting my Puerto Rican side of the family at least twice a year, I would beg Mama or Dad or Carlos to exchange with me. Carlos loved watching animated movies on flight; I would simply stare at the clouds passing underneath us and daydream.

After Mama passed three years ago, we didn’t travel as much anymore. Not because we didn’t want to, simply because, at first, it was too painful to visit her childhood home, then because we were all terribly busy with school and my music career and Carlos’ YouTube channel and Dad’s photography business.

My first flight After was coincidentally also my first flight on my own. I was meeting a record label in New York, the one that would later produce my first studio album, _Mourning Cloak._ I was nervous, and scared, and slightly nauseated.

None of which stopped the 30-something MAGA bitchass from giving me a capital-S-Speech about why _You really shouldn’t wear that in public, you know_. “That” being the bisexual flag pin on my black Kanken. I was way too _everything_ to tell him to kindly fuck off, which, apparently, he took as a sign of war, since he refused to lift his ass off his seat when I wanted to go to the bathroom. A flight attendant had to tell him to move. There was a whole thing.

So, I wasn’t greatly excited when the letter on a plane ticket for my first ever trans-Atlantic flight indicated a window seat.

But maybe it will be fine. One jackass shouldn’t ruin air travel for me. Maybe homophobes don’t fly to Orly airport.

The pin is still on my backpack, though, because I am stubborn and confrontational now. I dare someone say shit.

Getting to my seat, some of the tension releases. The person sitting in the middle row is a guy my age, wearing a jean jacket with a pink Champion hoodie and a gray beanie over blond hair. Shimmying by him, I notice (with great joy) rainbows on the sleeves on his blue jacket, cascading down his arms. So, he won’t hate crime me. One less thing to worry about.

I sit down, giving the boy a polite smile. He nods back, looking like he might throw up any second. His hands are fidgeting with the clear cover of his phone, crinkling the corner of a polaroid pic of him and some long-haired dude. His, boyfriend, I assume since the photo is of them kissing.

(I’m not trying to pry, or anything. But I’m an observant person and he’s sitting really close to me. So close I can smell his flowery cologne and hear his breathing hitch every once in a while, to see the pinkish splotches creeping up his neck. And we’re not even in the air yet.)

Looking out the small window, all I see is a cloudless sky above the runway. I send a silent goodbye to the warm Los Angeles weather; last time I checked, the forecast for west and central Europe was stormy.

I don’t mind that, I like the rain. It helped me write some of my best songs. What I am worried about is missing my next flight, from Paris to Frankfurt. _Monarch_ , my newest album, has been nominated for an award, which is, if I do say so myself, the biggest thing to ever happen to me, so the award ceremony isn’t something I’m keen to miss. Taylor Swift will be there, for Christ’s sake. Blackpink is performing. And there’s a crumpled sheet of paper somewhere in my carry-on, with a speech waiting to be read.

The predictions are good, so there really is nothing to worry about. No roads have closed yet and the airports remain operational. The wind isn’t too crazy, apparently, and the brunt of the storm is supposed to avoid Paris altogether. If we take off now, there probably won’t be any delay.

At that thought, I hear a flight attendant over the sound system. I half listen, this after all being my first flight over a vast expanse of deadly water. She doesn’t tell anything new, though, so I simply fasten my seatbelt and start to fish my AirPods out of my backpack, safely stashed into the pouch of the seat in front of mine.

Pink Hoodie is still mauling his phone case, but I pay him no mind. Lots of people are nervous fliers, my brother included. Nothing major usually happens, and once we take off, in my experience, they calm down. I quietly promise to myself to check up on him every once in a while, just in case, but other than that, he shouldn’t be a bother.

Finding what I wanted, I grab my earphones and a pack of gum. It’s a habit to take them everywhere, especially on flights. Popping ears are not my favorite experience.

I throw a piece of gum in my mouth and offer the pack to Pink Hoodie. He looks startled and quickly shakes his head.

“Oh, no.” His voice cracks and he cringes, clearing his throat. “No, but thank you.” His cheeks tinge pink and he avoids my eyes. Geez, the kid needs to take a chill pill.

Connecting my AirPods, I let my head rest against the plastic wall. Conan Gray blares as the plane crawls towards the runway. The large blocks of LAX move in and out of view, and finally, we’re gaining some speed.

Scenes blur, and I almost can’t make out my music over the roar of the engine. My chest is pushed backward, and we are flying. No matter how many times I’ve been on a plane, the feeling of taking off is still amazing to me. I press my palm against the cold glass and squirm as the city grows smaller and distant.

Pink Hoodie is hyperventilating.

I smack my head around so quickly my eyesight blurs. He is slouched forward a little bit, with shoulders tensed up; it looks like he’s trying to not make noise, resulting in ragged breaths mixed with sharp hiccups.

He’s having a panic attack.

The guy on his left is either already asleep (unlikely) or pretending to be (rude) and the attendants aren’t making rounds yet, so it falls on me to do something, except I don’t know _what_. I got a panic attack once or twice, soon after returning to school after Mama died. It helped when Flynn held me, but I don’t know this guy and I don’t know what he needs right now. Physical contact might make it worse.

I lean forward and try to meet his eyes, speaking softly. “Hey. Hey, can you speak to me?”

He opens his mouth and closes it again, shaking his head. Okay. Okay. It’s fine, this is fine. “Should I get a flight attendant or …” Before I can finish, he shakes his head again, violently. His breathing hitches again. “Alright, okay, I won’t. Should I … Try to breathe with me.” I take a long, deep breath through my nose. “Three seconds in, hold it, out through the mouth.”

He attempts to do so, but he’s still really shaky. The knuckles of his fisted hands are turning white and I have officially run out of ideas. “Do you want me to hold your hand?” Maybe it’s not about knowing the person, maybe it’s about the physical presence of another human being. What do I know.

He looks a bit surprised at my suggestion, but – to my relief – nods. Alright. Handholding I can do.

I slowly take hold of his wrist and snake my fingers between his palms. He unclenches them just enough for me to take hold of his other hand and I notice his fingernails are painted light blue. “In, one two, three, hold, one, two, three, out, one two three. You got this. You’re safe.”

He seems to relax a little more, his breathing getting under control. We’re no longer rising, instead smoothly passing through clouds that look like cotton candy.

“I’ve always thought clouds would make the best bouncy castles.” I say before I can stop myself, hoping to distract him. He’s calming down, I see that now. “That was before my physics teacher ruined my life with facts.” That earns me a weak smile and I let myself exhale, but I continue the bit.

“Apparently, the temperature here is _negative forty degrees Celsius_ and there is _no oxygen_ , so we _would die_.” My impression of Mr. Marsh isn’t the best, but it will have to do.

“And also, you know … Clouds aren’t exactly solid.” The smile is there again, and I laugh in relief.

“Party pooper.” That makes him laugh too, but his expression quickly sours. “I’m sorry about that, by the way.”

Oh, no. Not on my watch. “Dude, no. It’s fine. I just got a little freaked out cause I was worried about you.”

“Thanks for helping me, I really appreciate that. But I am sorry for scaring you, though.”

“No, really, it’s good. Its not like this was your fault.”

He shrugs his shoulders. “Flying isn’t that great for my anxiety, and today was especially bad since I’m all alone. Well, you’re here but …” He trails off kind of awkwardly, but I know what he means. “I was supposed to sit next to my friend, but the airline messed something up and then I didn’t want to bother the other passengers even though Reggie said he could ask … It’s whatever.”

“Reggie’s the friend?” It’s a stupid question, but I’m trying to keep the conversation going. His green eyes are still nervously darting around.

“Yeah, we’re going to visit my family in Germany.”

“Germany? You flying to Frankfurt?” It would be nice, I guess, to have someone to talk to during the layover.

“Nah, Berlin. Haven’t been for almost a year now, so I’m hella excited. I’m Alex, by the way.”

His genuine smile is pretty. “Julie.”

“What’s in Frankfurt, Julie?”

“Oh, I have this … Thing. For my music.” I don’t even know why I said that. It’s not like it’s a secret I might get a major award. But he clearly doesn’t know me (which is easier and not at all surprising), and I really don’t want to sound like I’m bragging, because Alex seems nice.

Alex’s eyes light up at that. “You’re a musician?”

“Uh-uh, I sing and play the piano.”

“That’s cool. I play the drums sometimes.”

“You do?” I can’t hide my surprise very well, apparently, because he chuckles.

“Don’t look like it?”

“No, I Just meant –”

“No, it’s fine, you’re not wrong. It feels good to make noise sometimes though, and it’s fun to jam with Reg. He plays bass.”

“He sounds cool.”

“He is. He wears _eyeliner_.”

“Okay, that’s dope. I like people who don’t fuck with gender norms. On that note, your nail polish is cute.” His smile lights up at that.

“Thanks, I – I’m trying out new stuff, I guess.” There is definitely a story there, but we’re still two strangers sitting next to each other on a plane, so I don’t ask.

“Well, it’s working out.” I hesitate for a half-second. “Wanna watch a movie together?”

He says yes.


	2. Luke

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Luke didn't get the window seat and Reggie wears eyeliner. That's all you need to know.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> two updates in less that 24 hours!! look at her go!  
> this story is doing really well already and i can't thank you enough for it. to everyone who commented and left kudos, i will love your forever for giving me the validation i so desperately crave.  
> this is a shorter chaper, but there isn't really any plot to speak off lmao so i don't want it to drag. alex's and reggie's povs are coming next.  
> not beta'd because stupidity.

LUKE

There is a cute guy sitting next to me.

Not exactly my “type”, whatever the hell that even means, but objectively cute, nonetheless. He’s got messy dark hair, lazily thrown back, blue eyes and – oh my god – eyeliner. Like, not even the punk kajal eyeliner. Amazing, oil-black, _winged_ eyeliner. That is _so_ sick.

I’m not even mad he got the window seat anymore. Sure, I was kind of hoping for it, because I hate being squeezed between two strangers (or just two people in general), but maybe Tall Dark and Handsome will want to talk. Maybe I won’t be bored to death on this flight.

Most of the passengers are sat down and the flight attendants are beginning the announcements. I don’t really listen; I probably should, but I’ve been on a plane enough times, even the trans-oceanic ones, to know what’s up and what’s where.

I use the time to check my phone one last time before setting it to airplane mode. I text Bobby we’re about to take off, post the photo I took through the airport window earlier to my story, then aimlessly scroll the news for the remaining minute or so.

There’s nothing big, nothing worth mentioning. Yeah, there’s a pretty bad storm gathering above Europe, but France is supposed to dodge the majority of it, so nothing to worry about. As long as we can land and I can get a taxi to Bobby’s place, it can hail icicles down on Germany or Belgium or whatever for all I care.

The plane starts moving slowly, and I can’t help being giddy with excitement. This is it; this is my big break. Bobby and I, we’re going to take the music industry by storm. We’re going to be legends.

I put an EP out about a year ago, _My Name Is Luke_ , self-recorded, self-produced, self-everything. It did well, but not well enough. Perhaps that one agent was right, and it was too weird of a mix to go mainstream, with both loud, energetic rock songs, and slow ballads accompanied by acoustic guitar.

I can admit that, in some ways, the EP was meant more for me than for other people. It was a collection of songs I wrote at different times in my life, the anthology of my best works over the years, finally brought to life. It was a way for me to see how far I’ve come.

But I’ll go further. _My Name Is Luke_ was a start, but _Unbreakable_ will skyrocket me to fame. That was the title Bobby and I chose for our collaboration studio album. We wrote the songs on ZOOM, since he lives in Paris (and had many a flashback to the Quarantine of 2020), and now I’m flying there, to finish what we started, to seal the deal.

I’ve known Bobby since middle school. When I went to college, he moved to France to become a photographer and run away from LA, but instead, in a series of random and fortunate events, managed to put out a chart-topping album Trevor.

(He tells the press it’s a metaphor of some sort. Only I know it’s actually an inside joke from high school and he has an album named after Neville’s frog from Harry Potter.)

We’re taking off, and I’m trying to inconspicuously peek through the window without crawling into Eyeliner’s lap. I live to see the world get smaller underneath me, to imagine I could hold it in my palm, to see myself big and the world small, instead of the other way around.

Eyeliner’s face lights up in a smile of childish wonder as he observes the streets of LA moving away, and if it weren’t for my slight nerves, I’d strike up a conversation with him. I don’t know what’s with me right now, honestly. It isn’t like me to be so quiet and unsociable, especially with cool-looking people my age.

Maybe it’s flight anxiety; maybe it’s excitement about seeing Bobby again for the first time since graduating high school; maybe it’s worry for Black Betty down in the belly of the plane.

(Yes, I named my guitar Black Betty. Shut up. We’ve been through a lot together.)

Or maybe it’s a gut feeling that something is about to happen. Something that is going to change my life.

Eyeliner doesn’t seem to share my thoughts about this day being fateful – he rolls his neck and tries to wiggle out of his leather jacket. There isn’t much room to speak of, so he bumps against my shoulder and offers a muttered apology. I lean away to give him space and accompany my “It’s fine” with a half shrug.

Then we both lean back in our seats and shuffle through our pockets, bringing out earphones at the same time. I smile to myself and untangle mine, plugging them in. I’m secretly happy he doesn’t have wireless ones – call it aesthetic or reverse snobbism, but I don’t trust people with AirPods appreciate music the way I do.

I put on Bobby’s _Next Flight_ , because I love irony, and close my eyes. The bass resonates within my bones and the lyrics I know by heart keep my daydreams company. _I’d like a ticket for the next flight to destiny._

In the silence between songs, I can hear muffled sounds coming from the guy’s earphones. I guess we both got cheap ones. The melody sounds familiar, though, but I can’t put my finger on it until I make out some of the lyrics: so welcome to the brotherhood where you won’t be misunderstood …

I turn towards him in my seat so quickly the dude startles. Noticing my bewildered expression, he takes out one earphone. “Hey, you ok?” He raises his eyebrows.

“You listen to _Caleb Covington_?” His expression turns almost embarrassed for a second before settling on defensive.

“Well, yeah. I know it’s not exactly rock or whatever, but his music is great, and his vocals …”

“Oh, no, dude, I’m not judging you,” I quickly clear up. “I love Covington. I just didn’t think you’d know him because you look so … edgy.” That’s the dumbest thing I could possibly have said. Especially considering my chunky rings and chain belt, but he only laughs.

“What can I say, I’m full of surprises. But I love that you listen to Caleb, he’s so underrated.”

“I know, right? You know I went to his concert once, at seventeen?” I just have to flex. I have to. “Before he … You know.”

“Before he died?” He supplies and I chuckle at his bluntness. I have a feeling we’d be friends.

“Before he died, yeah.”

He nods. “I do also listen to rock, though.”

I knew I could count on him. “Really? Like what?”

He shrugs. “Oh, you know … A little bit of everything. The classics like The Cure, Nirvana, REM, Guns’n’Roses … But newer stuff to. Arctic Monkeys, Franz Ferdinand. Honestly, I don’t mind pop rock or punk either. I listen to pretty much everything.”

“Except for country, right?” I joke, referencing the common phrase, but he surprises me with his response: “Oh, no, country too. There’s a lot of good stuff, actually. You just gotta give it a chance.” “I guess you’re right … It’s not like Caleb Covington is exactly Bruce Springsteen either.”

That earns me a chuckle. “Exactly. I think the genre doesn’t matter when you love music just for the sake of it.”

Okay. I am officially obsessed with this dude.

“Bro, you just became my best friend. I’m Luke Patterson.”

He mockingly shakes my hand, laughing. “Reggie Peters. Pleased to meet ya.”

“I see that country’s sticking to you,” I laugh. “So, who else do you listen to?”

Turns out, he really does listen to everything. From jazz to rap to the pop-iest of pop, from Twenty-one Pilots to some girl called Julie Molina, who, apparently, has “a voice that gives you ghostbumps.”

“Don’t you mean goosebumps?”

“No, dude. This girl would give goosebumps to the _dead_. So, _ghostbumps_.”

Therefore, yeah. Reggie’s cool. He’s really freaking cool. And he plays bass too, so we exchange Instagrams and promise to meet up and jam together after we’re both back. Luckily, he’s from LA too; he even went to the high school next to mine.

“And maybe Alex will come too. He’s the friend I’m travelling with, and we were supposed to sit together, but the airline mixed something up. I was kind of worried about him because he seemed like he might collapse any minute, but he texted me a while ago that he’s fine and he even made a friend. Which is surprising but also not, cause he’s a sweetheart once you get to know him. With the emotional intelligence of a brick, but a sweetheart nonetheless.”

“You’re the one to speak.”

He looks offended, but not really. “You don’t even know me! I could be very mature.”

“I’ve learned enough in this past” I check my phone and startle, “Hour! Wow, time does fly when you’re talking about music.”

He nods. “Well, Luke, I don’t think you’re much better than we are, but alright. I could be wrong. You could be very in touch with your feelings and communicative.”

Rolling my eyes, I suggest we change the subject. “Your friend Alex, does he play bass too?”

“Oh, no. He’s a drummer. Best one in LA, that much I can guarantee you.”

“That’s sick. Drummers are so underrated; didn’t realize that until I had to produce my EP and add in all the beats.”

Shit. I didn’t mean to brag, really. I didn’t want to mention my EP. But my subconscious did, apparently, and Reggie’s intrigued now.

So then, of course, I have to play him a song of mine. I pull up Now or Never on Spotify and I can see he genuinely loves it. His eyes sparkle and he even does some air-guitar motions with his fingers.

I imagine, for a brief second, what it would be like to play in a band, possibly with Reggie and the Alex guy. How it would be like to have company at late-night recordings, how I wouldn’t have to add drums and bass on my computer, how I’d have voices to harmonize with and friends to count on.

Bobby plays rhythm guitar, but we’ll still have to add some stuff in production, and besides, he lives in France. It’s not like we can form a band at a moment’s notice. I am planning on returning to the states in a little over a month.

I don’t know. It’s a nice thought, though; maybe someday, in the future, it will come true.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> reggie wears eyeliner because i wanted him to. also my sense of humor is very strange so the thought of the boys bonding over their shared love for caleb was hilarious to me. luke's guitar is called black betty after the song, but also after liam's van in the darkest minds because they give off similar energy. book!liam stewart. we don't talk about the movie here.


	3. Alex

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Alex does super Trouper and we learn about Dirty Candy

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> THREE CHAPTERS IN TWO DAYS? i'm a wholeass writer apparently. i hope you enjoy this because it sure was fun writing it up.  
> also i googled it and it turns out the only direct flight from lax to paris is to charles de gaulle but i'm keeping orly because i want to.  
> the friendship bracelet thing is a headcanon i saw on tumblr and loved. not mine, but don't remember the op. if you know, lmk so i can credit.

ALEX

Window seats have forever been ruined for me.

I flew for the first time when I was 13, visiting my grandparents’ new place in Florida. My mom was sitting next to me, and she let me watch Chicken Little on the tablet. All in all, not a bad deal.

Except something always has to go wrong. In my case, the “something” was a turbulence, and no matter how many times my dad promised me those happen all the time and don’t make planes crash, no matter how many times mom squeezed my hand or then-nine-year-old Chiara yelled “Rollercoaster!” I was convinced my window seat was a first-row view onto the end of my life.

Clearly, it wasn’t, and we landed safely, but window seats have been holding a special place on my list of things I hate ever since.

The spot is now occupied by a girl of about 18 with a mass of brown curls and big glasses with clear frames, who just witnessed (and helped me get through) one of my panic attacks and now wants to watch a movie with me.

I let Julie pick the movie because I don’t want her to not like my choice. She browses for a while, mumbling “Maybe,” at some animated movies. Then she seems to find something she is happy with and turns to me with a shit-eating grin.

“We’re watching _Mamma Mia!_ ” I don’t see the problem, because I love _Mamma Mia_ (Who doesn’t?), which I let her know, but she’s not done yet. “We’re on a plane, Alex. You. Can’t. Sing. Along.”

Oh, no. Oh, absolutely not. This girl is evil.

“You can’t do that! It’s _Mamma Mia_! How do you expect me to _not_ sing _Super Trouper_ and do Donna and the Dynamites’ choreography?!”

She doesn’t take my distress seriously and instead only laughs. “I suppose you’ll just have to make a choice. Public embarrassment or heartache?”

Turns out, a little bit of both. We make it through _Honey, Honey_ and _Money, Money, Money_ (boy, the ABBA song titles sure are repetitive), but I catch her humming along to _Mamma Mia_ , giving her a playful nudge and a “Who’s singing now” look.

It doesn’t take long for me to lose my cool though, because _Dancing Queen_ comes on, and I am unable to ignore the nudge of all of my sister and I’s home concerts.

I smile all throughout _Our Last Summer_ because that’s Willie’s song. Our song. We’d listen to it, lying on our backs on the beach, dreaming of Paris.

Those summer nights, stargazing with him, were straight (no, nothing about them was straight) out of a fairytale. Or a fanfiction if you will. Waves were crashing and the sand was still warm, and it was perfect.

(Except when Reggie would throw water balloons at us over his balcony. But even that brought us closer together, I suppose.)

Willie made me promise to take pictures of Orly airport. “It’s the closest to a Parisian summer either of us will get to any time soon,” he said, and I had to agree.

The most iconic part of the movie is objectively the flipper dance, so as the fist notes of Lay All Your Love On Me sound through the headphones, we simultaneously turn to the other, whisper-yelling “I used to perform this to my parents when I was little!” resulting in a fit of laughter and hitting each other, telling the other t “Shut up, there are other passengers here.”

They don’t seem to care, though. It’s a daytime flight, but some of them are sleeping regardless – probably a good idea if I want to avoid jetlag, but we burned that bridge – and the others mostly have headphones on. There’s a toddler babbling about, his mother half-heartedly shushing him, and if I stretch my neck, I can just make out the tops of Reggie’s dark hair ten or so rows behind us. Unlike me, he got the window seat.

When _Super Trouper_ does come on, we both quote every single line of the scene and I even do an awkward little imitation of the dance because Julie looks at me expectantly with her brown puppy eyes and it’s impossible to let her down.

I can never get tired of this movie and I see Julie is on the same page with me. The vibes are simply immaculate – Greek islands, the summer every VSCO girl pretends to have had, Meryl Streep being Meryl Streep, Pierce Brosnan absolutely butchering every song but in an adorable way, _Julie Walters._

 _Gimme! Gimme! Gimme!, Voulez-Vous and Does Your mother Know_ are absolutely chaotic and _SOS_ is … Something, but it turns out we’re both perfectly fine with public embarrassment now. We’re two complete strangers, sitting on a plane across the world, and it’s not a liminal space, it’s a liminal feeling, but the best type. It’s like a sleepover in school. It’s like sing-along at the last day of summer camp. I don’t know where this girl is from or why she’s here, but I know she’ll stay a part of my life.

Julie cries during _Slipping Through My Fingers_ , and I don’t ask.

 _The Winner Takes It All_ and _Take A Chance On Me_ are all dramatic lip-syncing and if I accidentally bump into my left-side neighbor once on twice, that’s on him for ignoring me when I had a fucking panic attack.

After laughing our asses off during the _Waterloo_ credits, we stare at each other for a second, then Julie puts on _Here We Go Again_ without another word.

About four hours into the flight something that resembles lunch is served. I learn Julie is vegetarian and I’m somehow not surprised – she seems the type. One of her friendship bracelets says _Save the bees._

When I ask her about them, she only shrugs at first, but elaborates after a moment: “I used to make them all the time with Flynn and Carrie, when – those are my friends – when I … Needed something to do.”

Clearly a touchy subject. “Oh, ok. Sorry I asked.”

“No, it’s fine, I just … I don’t know. That was the year after my mom … Passed away.”

Shit, shit, shit. I _really_ shouldn’t have asked. I’m terrible with consoling people. “I’m so sorry for your loss,” I mutter. “And sorry I brought it up.”

“Don’t be, though,” Julie shakes her head. “I can talk about it now; it’s been almost three years. My therapist says I should talk about it. But in the first year after she died, it was really bad. If Flynn and Carrie hadn’t been there for me … It was Flynn’s idea, because we used to love to do arts and crafts, and Carrie read somewhere that working with your hands can be therapeutic. So, whenever things got too much, they’d bring out the beads and strings and we’d make friendship bracelets for a few hours. We got Carlos in on it too. That’s my little brother, by the way. And it helped, a little. Enough.” She finishes.

I don’t know what to say for a second, so I stare at my nails for a little bit. Reggie painted them for me before we left; he’s been rocking black polish since sophomore year.

Julie senses my discomfort. “We don’t have to talk about that, though. But maybe you could try it sometime, you know, to help with your anxiety. You can send me a bracelet, so I’ll always remember this flight.”

Smiling, I tell her I’d like that.

Before we choose a third movie, my choice this time (even though I can’t complain about Julie’s taste), I excuse myself to go to the bathroom, scooting myself by Left Neighbor.

Airplane bathrooms are gross; there’s nothing else to say here.

Coming back, I’m eager to get to the wet wipes in my fanny pack. Rummaging through it wildly, my keys clatter to the ground and Julie bends down to grab them. I expect her to return them right away, but instead, she only stares.

“You listen to _Dirty Candy_?”

Right, the band keychain. I tell myself there’s nothing to be embarrassed about, that this girl saw me perform _Super Trouper_ , but my cheeks still tinge pink; the memory of high school is too fresh.

“Well, yeah. I think their music is awesome.”

“Dude, this is the best thing ever. The. Best. Thing. Ever.”

Is she making fun of me?

Apparently, my face is asking that question, since she rapidly clarifies: “Okay, so, you’re never going to believe this, but the Carrie I mentioned earlier? That’s Carrie Wilson.”

“No. No way. You’re messing with me right now. Carrie Wilson? Of _Dirty Candy?”_ This is not happening. There is no chance this is happening.

“That’s the one,” she responds with a grin.

“Julie, what the hell! Your best friend is Carrie Wilson, and you didn’t tell me?”

“Was I supposed to tell you? I don’t go walking around exclaiming it into the world!”

“Fair enough. But, girl, that’s insane. I am obsessed with her music. Like, _obsessed_. Don’t get me wrong, Dirty Candy slaps, but her solo EP? Absolutely otherworldly. She really pulled a Taylor Swift there.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Oh, you know. Like a _folklore, evermore_ type thing. Being known for loud and fun pop and then dropping a surprise album with these raw, emotional songs and lowercase titles and gay cottagecore vibes … Don’t try to deny it, we all know _betty_ was a lesbian love song.”

“I wouldn’t dare. Especially since _ivy_ was, too.” It feels good to agree on the important things in life. “I get what you mean, now, and I suppose you’re right. I have to tell about this take to Carrie. She loves Taylor.”

“You’d do that?” Carrie Wilson will know what I think about her music. Carrie Wilson will know of _me_. “Make sure to tell her how amazing she is.”

Smirking, she promises to also tell how amazing I am. Sorry, Reg, Julie’s my best friend now.

“I do have to say, Alex, you are a gift that keeps on giving.”

“How so?” I nudge her.

“Didn’t think you’d be the type to like Carrie’s stuff.” Julie’s living for this right now, I can see that.

“Are you kidding me? She’s a lesbian _queen_. When she came out in that interview I was jumping around my room, I was so happy for her. And the music is – it’s something else. The way the entire _Wow_ album makes me feel like the baddest bitch in a ten-mile radius,” She laughs outright at that, “And don’t even get me started on _Sappho_. That EP is a masterpiece, simple as that. I almost had a whole ass panic attack when she dropped it, I was so excited.”

“It is great. And she was so proud when she published it. I could see she grew so much alongside her music.”

“She should be proud. _Calloused Heart_ made me sob my soul out.”

“Honestly, same. And I was there when she wrote it.”

“You were there -?!”

Julie looks absolutely delighted. “Alex, this is fantastic. I am so happy I met you.”

I’m so happy I met her, too.

“Do you want to know something kind of embarrassing?” I ask her, “I know the choreography for _All Eyes on Me_ by heart.”

She snorts out a laugh. “That’s not embarrassing, that’s iconic. And I’m so telling her that too. She’d love you.”

“You think?”

“I know. Like me, she has great taste.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> non-negotiable things:  
> carrie is cool  
> carrie is gay  
> alex is a fan of carrie  
> alex is a fan of taylor  
> folklore and evermore give off gay cottagecore vibes  
> mamma mia is amazing and alex and julie definitely love it  
> dancing queen is NOT overrated  
> reggie wears nail polish  
> thank you.


	4. Reggie

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Boys watch Free Birds and some things don't go according to plan

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> the amount of writing i got done today is unreal. the next chapter i coming up right.now.  
> alright, i know the storm plot point is pretty weak. it makes no sense the train is nonoperational too, but it's fine. i wanted to achieve a certain setting and this was the only way. besides, i know y'all come here for the feels, not the facts, so: enjoy this mess.

REGGIE

There is a cute guy sitting next to me.

Like, Luke is unbelievably cute. The type of cute that would make me extremely self-conscious in high school. He has messy brown hair and big, green puppy eyes, his fingers are decked with cool rings and he’s wearing a maroon flannel.

And he’s nice, too. Nice in an excited, golden retriever type of way. Nice in a this-guy-is-listening-to-music-I-like-so-I-have-to-talk-to-him manner.

I’m not worried about Alex anymore; he texted me a while ago that he’s fine and talking to the girl sitting next to him. Which is a little shocking, not gonna lie, considering Alex usually hates talking to people he doesn’t know; I guess that girl is something special. Maybe she saw the polaroid in his phone case and asked about Willie; that’s one of the few subjects that gets Alex talking everybody’s ears off. That, and Taylor Swift’s new album.

But then it means I can enjoy talking to Luke without feeling guilty, which is great, because talking to Luke is awesome.

He tells me more about his EP: how he’s been writing songs all his life, how it’s the only way he can truly express what’s happening inside his head and his heart. I relate to that – talking’s never been easy for me, but music is a way I can say the things I want to without fumbling with the words.

Apparently, his songs all got streams in the tens of thousands, except for _Now or Never_ – that one climbed up three hundred thousand. Although successful, record labels felt his album was too random to be signed, so after a while, he gave up on getting his music represented professionally.

“It would feel good to be known, yeah, but it’s not what matters the most. Like you said earlier, it’s about loving music for music, not money or fame. As long as my stuff speaks to people and makes them feel, my mission is accomplished. I’ll keep making music no matter what anyone says – it’s the best thing in my life, the most important thing, even if it doesn’t seem so to other people.”

I know what he’s talking about, I really do. Music’s a huge part of my life, too. It’s fun, and I’m good at it, and I love it, but it’s never been something I would pursue seriously. It was an-afternoon-in-Alex’s-basement kind of thing. Even if, sometimes, I would dream of forming a band, of going on tour and producing something special, something people can relate to … It’s always been just that, a dream.

The way Luke put himself out there, produced an album all on his own – that’s respectable. That’s inspiring. Maybe someday, I’ll be brave enough to do that, too. Who knows what the future will bring us?

Until then, I can still talk to him about it, telling him about late night jam sessions, playing at the beach (he used to do that, too), even about _Home Is Where My Horse Is_ , the country song I once wrote.

He doesn’t make fun of me like I’d expect him to. He thinks it’s cool.

“What’s your favorite food?” He asks, after a while, catching me completely off-guard.

“Probably pizza.”

Nodding solemnly, he compliments my choice.

“Now that you asked, I _am_ getting kinda hungry.”

He lets out a laugh. “See, that’s why I asked. You think they’ll get us something to eat any time soon?”

“I don’t think so, it’s only been like two hours. I think Alex made me pack some pretzels, though. Should be in my backpack.”

“Reggie,” Luke says, clapping my shoulder, “I think I’m falling in love you.”

Sharing a pack of saltine pretzels, we decide to pass time by watching a movie. It _is_ a ten-hour flight, and none of us feels like napping, therefore the only logical thing to do is bond over our shared love for talking animals embarking on epic adventures.

We’re both fans of cartoons, so Luke suggests _Free Birds_ , and it’s the funniest thing I’ve seen in my entire life. It’s a cinematic masterpiece; I have never in all my 19 years been so invested in the lives of turkeys.

I don’t know why so many people hate on animated movies. I grew up with three sisters; I’ve seen my fair share of Disney princesses. They are a bit cliché, I can admit that, but I’ve always rooted for the main characters to fall in love. True love’s kiss, good over evil, the power of song … Those are the things I can never get enough of.

Of course, once I discovered Pixar and DreamWorks, that there are other cartoons than the princess ones, it was over for anything else. I remember watching _Cars_ for the first time. And the second. And third, and fourth. My mom swears I had it on for a week straight. They were all but about to lose their minds.

Movies keep us occupied until lunch finally arrives, and then for some time after.

“Attention, passengers, this is your pilot speaking.”

We’re in the middle of _Lion King_ when the speakers sound to life. I nudge Luke to take off his headphones.

“There is a storm gathered above France. The way it looks now, we will still be able to touch down at Orly Airport without any danger, but the roads leading to and from major cities are closed.

The taxi companies at the airport are nonoperational and the train line has shut down until further notice. In addition, any connecting flights to and from Orly airport are delayed until the storm comes down. If the weather conditions remain as they are, we will be landing at 21.45.

Should the connections be down for over 36 hours, the airline will cover accommodations expenses for all passengers. We apologize for the inconvenience and wish you a pleasant remain of the flight.”

There’s general mumbling, and Luke mutters a curse under his breath. We’ll be stranded at the airport for god knows how long, and some people have more flights to catch. I’m not too worried myself – Alex’s family will wait for us, but I do feel bad for the other passengers.

Part of me is excited, though; I’ve always loved liminal spaces. The thought of spending the night at an airport in a foreign country, while a storm rages behind the windows … Running around empty hallways with Alex and Luke, maybe Alex’s new friend … Eating a dinner of criminally overpriced airport snacks on the floor, talking abut life … Does wanting that make me a romantic? A dreamer, an escapist?

Or is the want for an existence outside of everyday life, in a world where nothing is real but at the same time, everything matters, where connections are made for life and there’s no holding back the truth, a primal human desire?

I don’t ask that out loud. I say, “That sucks, man,” and Luke agrees that it does, indeed, fucking suck.

But again, there’s nothing we can do about it. That, we can also both agree on. What we can do is try to make these next four hours pass as quickly as possible.

Kind of sick of movies already, we decide to listen to some music. It takes some nagging and some puppy eyes, but Luke at last agrees to let me listen to the rest of his album.

I notice he does have quite a following on Spotify; I would absolutely lose my mind if that many people heard my music. Which doesn’t mean I don’t understand his previous point. He dreamed of more.

We make a deal: he lets me listen to _My Name Is Luke_ , and I choose something for him to listen in the meantime. I don’t thing about it for too long; I go with Twenty-one Pilots, album Trench. It’s just different enough, but at the same time not too out of his comfort zone. Baby steps.

He warned me the songs are random as hell, and he did not lie. The first two – _Now or Never_ , which I listen to again, because it’s a bop, and _My Name Is Luke_ – are all classic rock and electric guitar, very 90s. _Hercules_ is slower, more emotional, but still on the rock side.

Then, and I am completely unprepared for this, comes _Unsaid Emily_. It’s a ballad, simple as that, and a sad one. It doesn’t sound like the Luke I got to know during these short hours at all, but somehow, I know it’s the song on this album that means the most to him. I restrain myself from asking, though, because it’s too personal to discuss with practically a stranger on some flight. I might ask one day, though, if we stay in touch. I have a feeling we will.

The next song _, Coup de foudre_ , is in French. I jerk his earphones out to make him explain what it’s about.

All he says is “It’s a love song,” but he does explain the title to me. It means a strike of lightning, but also love at first sight, and I think that’s awesome. Man, French is a great language.

The last songs exchange between the two extremes – _Birthday Candles_ is just as heart-wrenching as _Unsaid_ _Emily_ , followed by the upbeat _Long_ _Weekend_. Listening to the lyrics, though, I notice them to be sort of sorrowful. Luke is much more complex than he seems at first glance.

 _Christmas_ breaks my heart again, and I start to piece the puzzle together. The songs are about his parents – Emily must be his mom. Luke ran away from home.

The feelings I sense in his lyrics, his voice, are not so different from what I used to feel before my parents got a divorce. Desperation, anger, frustration. Not understanding, being sick of everything, of the fighting and the screaming and the ticking bomb that is your family.

After the divorce, it was immensely better. The tension subsided and we could breathe again. Sometimes it’s better to step away, no matter how much you love the person. Sometimes staying only hurts everyone more.

I wonder if Luke ever fixed things with his family.

The album closes with _Get Lost_ and _Chili On Hotdogs_ , punk rock anthems that leave you buzzing with adrenaline. It is an odd mix, I admit, but that record company was wrong – it is worth publishing. This dude sitting next to me is an amazing musician

I tell him that, and he lights up. Music must really mean the world to him. The way he poured his heart and soul out into these songs, then put them out into the world to be judged and torn apart, dissected – that doesn’t only take talent, it takes courage.

“Shut up,” He blushes when I say so, and punches me in the bicep. Yes, very much in touch with his feeling and communicative, I see.

Even seemingly unending things end at some point, and so does this flight. We can guess we’re almost above Paris once big storm clouds gather next to my window, crackling with lightning every once in a while. A plane is a Faraday’s cage, so it shouldn’t concert me, yet it does. I’ve never been a huge fan of storms. The visibility is pretty bad, too. I would not want to be our pilot right now.

Finally getting up after over 10 hours of sitting with only occasional bathroom breaks, I almost get vertigo. My knees crack like an old man’s. Luke laughs, and I show him my tongue.

Following the stream of passengers, we make our way through the exit and the tunnel, to the airport we’ll be spending who knows how much time in.

I don’t spot Alex just yet, there’s a wave of people pushing forward, off the plane, obscuring my sight. I text him to meet at baggage claim and follow Luke, who is practically sprinting towards the tract.

He literally hugs his guitar when he sees it, sighing something that sounds suspiciously like “I’ve missed you, Betty.”

As I’m grabbing my suitcase, I spot Alex in his pink hoodie making my way to us.

And walking up next to him is – No way. No way in hell.

“Hi, I’m Julie,” the girl smiles at me, and – apparently – yes way. it is her.

“The friend you made is _Julie Molina_?”

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> also i headcanon alex as an older brother and reggie as having grown up with sisters. luke's an only child obviously. he radiates that energy


	5. Alex

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> And then they were four

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i posted this on my phone and all of the italics disappeared. which sucks, because i use italics a Lot. so i am pissed off. i fixed like three words and that's all. will probably repost from my computer in the morning. goes for the previous chapter too.  
> (edit: fixed it)

ALEX

Wait a second. Molina? Like, _Molina_ Molina? The one Reggie won’t stop talking about? The super-successful-musical-prodigy Julie Molina? The one who –

“I am so stupid.” The one who lost her mother. The one who knows Carrie Wilson. It was right there, all of it was right there, and I missed it. Julie and I watched movies for the rest of the flight, talking about unimportant stuff, so her music career never came up. I didn’t realize it was that big of a deal.

In my defense, Reggie’s the one who keeps up with her. I don’t even follow her on social media; her music’s great, and she does have a fantastic voice, but I never really got into it. Still, I should have put two and two together. I mean, this girl is seriously famous. Not like, A-list celebrity, but still, you know, known.

“Um, hi.” Julie does an uncomfortable little wave. “Hi, are you Reggie?”

He finally stops sending me looks and turns her way. “Yeah. Yeah, I am. It’s … Nice to meet you. Sorry I pounced on you two like that. I’m a huge fan.”

“Wow, that’s,” Julie looks almost embarrassed, but I can tell she’s pleased. “That’s really sweet of you to say, actually. A little bit surreal.”

That earns her a chuckle. “Yeah, not as surreal as this dude,” that would be me, “Befriending a random person on a plane and not realizing they’re famous. That’s such an Alex move, though.”

I roll my eyes. “Well, I was a little preoccupied with a _panic attack_.” It’s a low thing to say, but I’m fine now, so I can joke about it. Reg still looks worried, though.

“I thought you said you were okay! I would have come to help you if I knew.”

“I was okay because Julie here helped me. Stop worrying.”

The guy next to Reggie speaks up for the first time. “Uh, I don’t really know what’s happening, but hi, I’m Luke.” His voice is adorable, and so is the rest of him. I definitely would have had a crush on Luke in early high school.

“Seems like we’re gonna be here for a while. Wanna get some food or something?”

He has a point. We have no way of knowing when the roads will reopen and how delayed our flights will be. It’s 10pm but none of us seems tired, so I nod.

“Sound good. Should we find some snacks?” I would usually never put myself in a position to go about with a person I don’t even know, but Luke seems the type that could talk enough for the both of us and besides, he was the one who initiated we stick together.

There’s also the thing of Reggie getting paired up with Julie Moline. He’ll thank me later for my sacrifice.

I nod Julie’s way. “Will you be okay getting us a place in one of the lounges or something? Don’t let Reg bother you too much and remember, he’s pretty harmless.”

“Hey!” He seems offended, “I’m completely harmless. Stop freaking her out.”

Julie seems a bit perplexed with the entire situation but gets her bearings quickly. “Sure, go ahead. Could you get me an oat milk latte and something to eat? Like, popcorn?”

“One oat milk latte and the best popcorn in France coming right up,” Luke overcomes me with a response. He winks her way, and I don’t think I imagine Julie blush a little. Interesting.

Her silent “Thank you” is drowned out by Reggie’s instructions to get him all the Cheetos I can find. They offer to take our suitcases and we accept; Luke keeps his guitar go, and Julie doesn’t insist. Talk about paranoia.

“This Julie girl,” Luke asks me, “You know her?” We’re standing in line for coffee, already having got some snacks in the duty-free shop. They were still expensive as hell, but that just comes with airports, I suppose.

“Only met her today on the flight, but Reggie’s been keeping up with her music for a while now.”

Luke has clearly never heard of her, though, because he asks me if she self-produced her music.

“No, dude, she’s the real deal. Starfall Records.”

“ _Starfall_? They’re New York based! They’re _huge_.”

“Yeah, I know. She’s seriously successful. She’s got like, millions of streams on Spotify. Surprised you haven’t heard of her, actually, since you’re a musician, too.” I nod toward the guitar strapped over his shoulder.

“Different genres, I guess. Can you play something of hers for me?”

Fishing out my phone, I pull up _Wake Up_ on Spotify.

_Here’s the one thing_

_I want you to know_

_You got someplace to go_

Luke looks like he’s been struck by lightning. “What. The. Hell.” He whispers under his breath.

I have to agree with him. Julie’s got some serious vocals. And the song is beautiful, too.

“It’s the song that skyrocketed her. Opener of her first album, too.” A piece of information pops into my mind. “Her mom wrote it for her, before she died of cancer a few years ago.”

“Shit man. That’s terrible. Poor Julie.”

“Yeah.”

Reggie and Julie are waiting sprawled over two couches in one of the lobbies. There are only a few other people in the space, far out in the corner. Looks like the storm prevented most people form even getting here. Apparently, planes stopped taking off a while ago, and most of the would-be stranded passengers quickly booked hotels before the roads closed, too.

It isn’t a busy day, either so the only people in the airport are the ones from our flight and one or two local ones.

I see Reg speaking eagerly, and I’m expecting he’s bombarding Julie with questions about her music, but it turns out they’re talking about Gilmore Girls.

“It all went to shit after season four. I’m sorry, and I love Logan, but it’s true. Hi, Alex, hi, Luke.”

She catches the bag of popcorn I throw her, going on about how they should have wrapped it up after Rory had gone off to Yale, and Reggie’s agreeing enthusiastically.

Sometimes I forget what it means for Reggie to have grown up with three older sisters.

Luke sends a questioning look my way, but I merely shrug. My knowledge on the topic isn’t nearly extensive enough to get in on the conversation; my early 2000s show of choice is Gossip Girl.

The pair doesn’t seem to be bothered by out lack of participation, though.

“And don’t get me started about A Year in The Life.”

“Oh, no. We don’t talk about that here. Falls into the same category as Cursed Child.”

“I’ve read Wattpad fanfiction better than that monstrosity,” I chime in and Julie expertly nods her head.

Passing hot Cheetos to Reggie and popping open a pack of his own, Luke settles on the couch next to Julie. “What’s Wattpad?”

“Luke, _honey_ ,” Julie seems positively horrified, “You have not lived until you’ve known the triumphs and defeats, the epic highs and lows of Wattpad fanfiction.”

“Didn’t strike me as the Riverdale type.”

“Right, _that_ you know of.” She sighs dramatically.

“Hey, it’s not my fault my classmates were obsessed with it senior year.”

“Excuses, excuses,” Reggie calls him out.

“And besides, I’m not the type.” Julie goes on, unbothered. “Carrie and I used to watch it ironically.”

I tell her that sound an awful lot like an excuse, too, and she throws a popcorn grain my way.

Digging into out food, conversation slowly dies down. There’s unspoken tension in the air – we’re all a little worried about the storm, about getting to our destinations. Luke mentioned he only needs to get a cab to take him to Paris, but it still sucks to be stuck at an airport. Julie’s situation is worse – it’s obvious she’s got some kind of thing in Frankfurt she doesn’t want to miss; she keeps checking the Departures board above our heads.

“Hey, Julie,” I start, not knowing where I’m going with this, “Since you so smoothly managed to forget to tell me about your mega-successful music career during a ten-hour flight, could you at least tell me what you’re going to, exactly?”

“Oka, firsht oh a-” She motions for me to wait and chews up her popcorn, “First off all, I don’t go around bragging about my accomplishments. And it’s not like my career is the most important thing about me – my music is, and I told you I did that. What a bunch of people think about it doesn’t tell anything about me.”

“It kind of does.”

“Shut up. And if you must know, I’m going to _Up And Coming._ ”

“YOU’RE GOING TO – Ah, fuck.” Luke turns towards Julie so fast, he spills Cheetos all over the floor. “You’re going to _Up And Coming Worldwide_? That’s huge!”

 _Up And Coming_ … It _is_ huge. It’s the biggest award for musicians, who are, well, up and coming, and Julie’s nominated? That’s insane. Reggie’s mouth hangs open in surprise.

“Julie, that’s amazing! Congrats, I didn’t even know you were nominated!” He gives her a fist-bump.

“Yeah, it was supposed to be a surprise. But now I don’t even know if I’ll make it …”

Luke is clearly not over the revelation yet.

“Bro, that’s … That’s … How are you so chill about it? It’s every musician’s dream!”

“I’ve had plenty of time to freak out. And calm down. You don’t need to scream about it.”

“Yes, I _do_! _Up And_ – Julie! Taylor freaking Swift will be there!”

“I _know_ ,” Julie points out, “I’m going. She’s one of the speakers.”

I can’t help myself. “Shit, Julie, Taylor Swift! We talked about her!” She smiles apologetically. “And, and –”

“And Blackpink, yes, Alex, I am aware, thank you. And Marcus & Martinus, and Kenzie, and a ton of other people. Look, it’s really not … Okay, it _is_ a big deal, but I don’t feel like talking about it right now. I’m nervous enough as it is.”

Luke tries to start the conversation a few more times, but she shushes him, punching him in the shoulders, until he knocks it off.

Bro, this day. Julie, who I didn’t know until 11 hours ago, is going to _Up And_ goddamn _Coming_ , and I’m going …

I sip my iced coffee, thinking about my family. I’m excited to see them again, obviously, but a little nervous, too. I came out as gay to them at 15, and at first, they seemed … Okay with it. But as time passed, I could notice my parents growing distant. They weren’t exactly hostile towards me, simply unnecessarily formal and cold. Not the parents I used to know.

My sister was cool with it, even though she was only 11 at the time. After I graduated and went off to college, my family moved to Germany. My mom wanted to be closer to her parents, since they needed more help in their old age, dad was able to get work in the international department of his office, and Chiara had no choice but to come along to finish school in Berlin.

At first, I was elated. I was on my own for the first time, free to explore my life and discover things about myself.

(Secretly, I was hoping the distance would make them realize they should have listened to me more, tried harder. I didn’t like to admit it back then.)

After a while, I began missing them, as you do with family. Thus, when I received a phone call from dad, inviting me to Germany for Christmas, it was a relief. It didn’t believe they would cut me off, not really, but I was glad they wanted to spend time with me, nonetheless.

It turned out to be the best Christmas of my life. My parents were different people – no, they were the same people, the ones I used to know, the ones that loved me regardless of who I was. The distance had done exactly what I had been hoping for it to do.

(Perhaps grandma and grandpa helped a bit, too, telling my mom to get it together. I was always their favorite, even if Chiara refuses to admit so.)

They even met Willie over facetime and loved him. _Loved_. I mean, who wouldn’t, but still. 17-year-old me wouldn’t have dreamt of something like that.

Them inviting Reggie over made me think of the good old times, of our sleepovers and him playing videogames at my house, of mom making him muffins for birthday and his dad carpooling us to school.

But ever since they let me down, every time I go visit, there’s a little nudge of “What if they changed their minds.” Of “What if they won’t accept you anymore.” I’m almost convinced we’ll be fine, but a feeling in my stomach insist on making me worry.

Ultimately, there’s nothing I can do about that now, but assure myself there’s nothing to stress about.

“Do y’all play Among Us?” Reggie asks, breaking the silence. I obviously do, and it turns out so do Luke and Julie; we also all play Mario Kart mobile. Naturally, we have to pause stuffing our faces and have a tournament.

I notice Julie stopped checking the Departures board every few minutes somewhere along the way. She’s completely focused on the game, and she mops the floor with us. Only Reggie can rival her, but she still wins. The girl is a Mario Kart _machine_.

Luke seems completely enamored. “Where did you learn to play like that?”

“My best friends and I, we used to play all the time in my garage. And my brother is obsessed with video games. he even has a gaming channel. Still isn’t better that me in Minecraft, though.”

“You play Minecraft too?!”

This boy is in serious trouble.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> as always, appreciate feedback and thank you for reading<3


	6. Luke

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Luke is all heart-eyes and Reggie makes the joke we've all been wanting him to.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> okay, so. writing this chapter felt a little forced, maybe because i was tired or whatever, but i really wanted to give you guys an update despite not having the inspiration of previous days. not every day can be great (pun intended), but i hope this is fine regardless. thank you for sticking with this mess of a story.

LUKE

_One new notification: @reg_pxtxrs added you to Orly Only <3 _

The digital clock above our heads reads midnight; we’ve been talking and playing games for over two hours when Reggie gathered the courage to ask the question we’ve all been thinking about:

“Do you wanna exchange numbers?”

Okay, so. I know it’s not a big deal, exactly. People follow each other on Instagram and stuff all the time. But our situation is different and this, exchanging numbers, making a group chat, feels like something final. Like we’re solidifying things, making it real – this isn’t some dream, these aren’t just random people. It doesn’t matter I’ve only met them a few hours ago; it doesn’t matter our paths are pointing in different directions. We chose to make this something more. We chose to stay in each other’s lives after the storm lifts, after we’re able to say goodbye.

These people are truly my friends now.

And, of course, there’s the little thing of casually getting Julie’s number.

Look, I’m not in seventh grade – I’m not afraid to talk to people or ask them to hang out. I’ve also dated girls and guys, whom I’ve met very briefly before going out.

This is nothing like that.

It might be the setting, the surrealness of it all; it might be the fact that Julie’s a musician, a famous one at that; it might be the caffeine and sugar high, and the way she passionately debates with Reggie or jokes with Alex.

It might be the gut feeling that’s been pointing to her all along, the way her eyes sparkle behind glasses when she smiles and how her singing voice sends shivers down my spine, how her laugh is a melody, how her nose scrunches up when she plays Mario Kart, the curve of her back when she stretches her arms up into the air.

It might be the fact that I’m crushing hard on this girl, and I’ve only known her for 120 fucking minutes.

It’s insane, I know it is. We might never see each other again. But I know, deep down, that’s not the case – Julie’s from LA, like me; we’ve probably grown up a few neighborhoods apart, went to high schools close together, had the same music teachers, maybe even played the same clubs or have common friends. And yet, it took flying halfway across the world, it took the airline messing up Alex and Reggie’s seats, for us to meet.

I’m not one to believe in cosmic signs, but this sure feels like one.

Reggie’s sprawled across the couch, his head in Alex’s lap, and Julie’s leaning on my shoulder (My stomach needs to stop with the butterflies, like _ten minutes ago_. This isn’t middle school, for god’s sake.), scrolling through _Up And Coming_ ’s Insta feed. The coffee’s wearing off, and we’ve all probably been up for well over 24 hours; we’re jetlagged, and stressed, and exhausted.

(We also probably look like we’ve been run over by a lawnmower, but it’s something we’ve decided to mutually ignore.)

Despite all that, there’s a buzz in my veins, telling me to _move_ , to run around these hallways and sing at the top of my lungs. To live through this dream that is our reality.

“Come on,” I make the executive decision to take the burden of getting us out of our stupor, “Let’s explore this place.”

Groaning, Alex and Reggie untangle from each other’s limbs, shaking them. Pulling Julie up by her hand, spikes of static electricity coursing through our entwined fingers, we leave our suitcases in the empty nook –

(Come on, Alex, it’ll be fine, there are employees here, just take whatever’s important.)

(No, _everything_ isn’t important.)

\- and then we’re running.

She doesn’t let go of my hand.

(I try not to think about it, try to simply go with the moment.)

(I fail miserably.)

We reach a different lobby, and there, in the poorly lit center, another cosmic sign awaits.

It’s …

“A piano.”

“No,” Julie corrects, “It’s a _keyboard_. And it probably belongs to someone.”

“Yeah, like the _airport_. So, you can play it.”

Alex whispers that’s not how it works, but I ignore him. This is it – this is the magic we’ve been awaiting. Four musicians from different worlds, joined by a clunky old keyboard in a side lobby of a French airport.

“Come onnnn, Julie,” Reggie gives her the puppy eyes, joining my efforts. “Just a little song. We’re bored; we wanna hear you play.”

“Pleeeaseee!”

“Please, please, please!” A chorus of three voices, three pairs of eyes sparkling, one pair rolling good-naturedly.

“You’re all dorks,” Julie sighs with a laugh. “Fine, fine, I’ll play something. Under one condition, though.” A mischievous glint is in her eyes and shit, I’m so doomed. “We do a song together. Right here, right now. You even get to choose which one.”

Man, this girl is not messing around.

“ _Edge Of Great!”_ Reggie yells before either Alex or I can even think, but Julie doesn’t seem to like that choice.

“No, not _my_ song. Like, a normal one.”

Oh. So this is _her_ song. Okay, okay. Yeah. We definitely need to do that now.

“Dude, we’re _so_ playing _Edge Of Great_ or whatever. You stepped right into that.”

Reggie seems horrified at my “Whatever.” He must be a huge fan of Julie’s.

Huffing, she rolls her eyes once more. “I did, didn’t I?”

I flip my guitar over my shoulder, a little party trick that’s become second nature to me. Maybe, just maybe, I’m showing off a little; Alex shoots me a knowing look. He seems a bit nervous about the whole thing, yet excited, nonetheless. I wouldn’t push this if he were uncomfortable with it, I’m not some asshole stepping on people, trying to impress a girl.

The girl in question fidgets anxiously, eyes darting around the room to check for people. While Reggie finds me the guitar chords, she winks at me conspiringly; it’s the push I need to start outright hyping her up.

“Woohoo, Julie! Come on, there’s a piano out there with your name on it!”

“It’s a _keyboard_!”

“And it says Yamaha, not Julie.” I can’t really tell whether Reggie is joking or not, laughing regardless. Julie’s right – we _are_ dorks.

She plays the first few notes, a soft melody, like raindrops in the summer, and starts singing.

The world collapses.

_Runnin’ from the past_

_Tripping on the now_

_What is lost can be found, it’s obvious_

Her voice is the same as one in the recording, but entirely different at the same time. It’s soft and sweet yet powerful, sorrowful yet hopeful. It’s like a phoenix rising from its ashes, a could touch grounding you on a hot afternoon. My entire universe zooms in on the sound of her singing, the boys blurring, the storm lifting, until there’s nothing left but a girl with soft curls and a white t-shirt, with a voice so beautiful I can see it bringing me to tears in another life.

Alex joins in with a rhythm, clapping on his knees, and Reggie belts out the chorus as the song picks up, thrusting me back to my senses, to a world where other things exist besides brown eyes and fingers flying over keys and high converse tapping the ground.

The lyrics are unknown to me, and although the chorus sounds fairly simple, I’m not trying to embarrass myself, settling on strumming the melody confidently, adding a string of _Hey_ ’s to accompany Julie and Reggie’s singing.

It makes sense.

We’ve never played together before, we’ve had zero practice, I’m hearing the song for the first time in my life, learning it as we go – and it shows. It’s messy and we lose ourselves, laughing, but it makes sense.

It makes sense and I’m so incredibly _happy_ – no, _exhilarated_ – to be playing music once more, music that feels like it’s healing, music that connects, because we are – connecting. I see it in Julie’s smile and Reggie’s melodious laugh and the chuckle that escapes Alex’s lips when we mess up for the twentieth time; I see it in the way thunder merges with our sound, in cracks of lightning and the pouring rain; I see it because I can breathe so easily.

The chorus comes again, and it all _makes sense._

_I believe_

_I believe that we're just one dream_

My fingers are flying over the strings almost subconsciously, creating song so melancholy and hopeful, I can’t believe it’s coming from me.

_Away from who we're meant to be_

_That we're standing on the edge of great_

I don’t mess up the words. And even if I did, I know it wouldn’t matter. Julie’s smirking at me, the boys shooting each other eyebrow-raises saying “I told you so,” as I approach her, her abandoning the _keyboard_ , approaching the rest of us, finishing the verse before screaming the bridge and then the chorus at the top of our lungs, all fours of us, jumping around like we’re a little mad. Maybe we are. Maybe _I’m_ mad for feeling so unspeakably close to three strangers (except they’re not, not really, not for a while now), singing pop songs in a near-empty airport. Or maybe we’re doing what we were meant to be doing all along.

_Running from the past_

_Tripping on the now_

I don’t notice the guys moving slightly further away, or Julie making her way back to the instrument. All I know is that the summer-rain-tones are back, as is her clear singing, and that I’m strumming along, humming a harmony. That her hair is very, _very_ close to my face.

_What is lost can be found, it's obvious_

She smells like jasmine and peaches and sweat and airplane seats and something that could be almonds. The song ends, with a soft smile playing on her lips and she _really, awfully close._ So close that I could … I could …

Tuck a stray curl of hair behind her ear. Count her inky-black eyelashes.

(Kiss her. Kiss her until I could taste nothing but her soft lips and that smile tugging at her mouth. Kiss her until the world stopped and stars came crashing down on us, raining constellations, bathing us in golden light, and the storm never receded, and we would stay here, in this cocoon of dreams, forever.)

“Hey! Stop that! This piano is not meant for playing!”

A 20-something employee wearing a crumpled uniform and looking like he hasn’t slept in seven years approaches our group, clearly agitated with our little performance.

Julie’s still close enough to see me mouthing “It’s a _keyboard_ ,” making her giggle like crazy, which makes me laugh, which makes her laugh _more_ , until we’re clutching to out stomachs and each other’s shoulders, shaking from glee.

Alex looks like he’s about to throw up, stammering an apology, but the dude only sighs and rolls his temples. “Stop, it’s fine. Appreciate the apology,” shooting us an accusatory look, “But it’s really not that big of a deal, didn’t mean to freak you out this much.”

“Our Alex’s just wired a little too tight,” Reggie joins the conversation, hugging his friend around the shoulders. “We’ll be out of your hair as soon as these two regain the ability to be normal.”

Julie wheezes “We’re fine,” just as I shoot back with “We were never normal,” resulting in another fit of laughter.

The employee is clearly over the situation, giving Reggie a nod. “Alright. Just … Be gone. I know this whole thing sucks, but we can’t have this here.” Starting to walk away, he seems to change his mind and turn back to our group.

“Even if y’all were awesome,” he whispers over his shoulder, “I posted you on my Insta story before the boss told me to kick your butts.”

We’re still laughing as we have returned to our undamaged, un-stolen luggage.

(See, Alex?)

“That was,” Reggie stars with a grin, making Julie giggle as she sees where this is going.

“ _Don’t_ say it.”

Looking Alex straight in the eye, he whispers, “Great.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> also, and this is extremely niche: i know julie doesn't play the piano all throughout great, and here she only stoppedat the end, and only to go jump around, but i imagine Solo Career Julie played the piano for the whole song because she didn't have the band. this is very random and none of you probably noticed, but i really had to put it out there.


	7. Reggie

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In Which Things Are Decided

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> finally a new chapter? from me? it's more likely than you think.  
> we're approaching the end of this story, only 1+1 chapter left and no i will not elaborate on what that means, you'll just have to find out for yourself. thank you for your kudos and comments, they make me so happy and inspire me to go on with this mess!  
> (the song lyrics are my own. and bad. but i had no time.)

REGGIE

I’ve never been one to think about the future. I let things happen, I go with the flow – I work with what’s been offered, and I’m mostly happy with the way things are.

Reading Julie’s DMs, though, looking over her shoulder as she combs through the flood of fans, makes me consider. Consider the possibilities my future holds. Consider a life outside of the safe, sure, comfortable but happy bubble that’s been my life so far.

None of us says it out loud, but we’re all thinking about the same thing. About how playing together felt like jumping off a cliff and coming home all at once. About Alex and I’s jam sessions and a songbook lying under my bed.

About these people that don’t know us, people from all over the world, asking us to play more. Asking how long we’ve known each other (about four hours, give or take), asking us to _start a band._

 _Julie And the Phantoms_ , they’re calling us, because Julie’s the only one tagged, and nobody knows who the rest of us are. Therefore – phantoms.

(After someone recognized Luke as “the guy with the mum song”, it’s already stuck. He’s not too pissed about it.)

I think it’s cute, but Julie only laughs at the name. “When we start a band, we’ll name it after all of us, you idiots.”

The “when” resonates through my ears while playing another round of Mario Kart, while catching the M&Ms Luke is throwing at me in my mouth, while roaming around the near-abandoned airport aimlessly. The fluorescent lights cast shadows on everyone’s faces, making us appear as tired as we must all feel, but it doesn’t matter.

We’re having fun, checking out plush animals and 20-dollar chocolate bars and fancy perfumes, swapping the testers until we all smell like a walking high-end store.

The part of Orly we’re in right now is more crowded, probably because it’s the heart of duty-free. There are people dragging themselves around sleepily, salespeople setting out more Toblerone pyramids (seriously, what’s with airports and Toblerone? We get it.), music playing from the speakers in an attempt to keep things normal (and people awake).

Julie’s on her second bar of Toblerone, when she suddenly halts to a stop, half-chewed chocolate almost falling out of her mouth.

(She almost walked away from us all earlier when I expressed my distaste towards it. She can sulk whatever she wants, we all know it’s true.

This brings us to a chocolate-bar-discourse. At the end of it, Julie and I are on the same side again, because lovers of Reese’s peanut butter cups must always unite against the evil that is Twix fans, embodied by Alex and Luke).

“Oh my god, Alex!” she screeches, “It’s your song!”

And it _is._

_Whenever I walk in the room_

_All the focus on me_

_The way I talk, the way I move_

_They all want on my team_

_All Eyes on Me_ is blaring from the sound system and I can’t help but chuckle. Typical of Alex, not realizing he’s sitting next to a celebrity, but managing to inform them of his love for Carrie Wilson and Dirty Candy.

Even Luke seems to know the song. “Hey, it’s the LA girl! The one with the pink wig!”

Julie’s hanging on Alex’s arm now. She’s almost comically short next to him. “Oh, will you do the choreography? Pleeeeaseeee?”

He won’t do it. He’s only done it once in front of me, and that was only because I slipped it up in front of Willie that he can dance, and his boyfriend begged until he caved. He would throw things at me randomly for the rest of the week as a form of retaliation.

Today must really be a day of miracles, though, because Alex only rolls his eyes, then proceeds to – I can’t believe this – skip to Julie, stepping into position.

“All right. To honor our queen Carrie Wilson.”

Julie’s squealing with excitement now, and I have to nudge Luke. “Buddy, your heart eyes are showing.” He only mutters at me to shut up, not even trying to conceal his crush. This day, this airport …

He’s lucky she definitely likes him back.

The girl whips out her phone, and Alex doesn’t even mind, going as far as instructing her to “Send this to your bestie, will you? Maybe we can restart Dirty Candy, use me as the front man!”

Poor Luke is so confused: “Julie is best friends with the pink wig girl??”

“Luke, _how_ are you on the LA music scene again?”

“I don’t _know_!”

We don’t try to figure it out because what’s happening is … It’s a lot. I’m seeing my best friend, my Alex, absolutely _slay_ a pop-song-choreography, in the middle of the night, with a clearing between duty-free stores as an impromptu dancefloor. Julie’s recording, laughing her ass off, screaming along to the lyrics.

People’s heads are turning; some smiling, some in disapproval, but we don’t care. Luke, ever the hype-man, is whistling in approval. “Yeah, Alex, you’re smoking! Work it!” He joins the pair, laughing and jumping to the beat.

I take my phone out of my pocket and record my best friend having the most fun I’ve seen him have in a long time. He’s shaking his hips, flicking his hair, an enormous, idiotically happy smile on his face.

I send the video to Willie before jumping into the routine myself. He’s going to love this. I am, too.

_I keep the party going all night, all night_

_I set the trends that you all like, all like_

_I make an entrance when I don't try, don't try_

_'Cause all I see is all eyes on me_

_I only lead, I never follow, follow_

_I never open 'cause it's my show, my show_

_Don't know if people think I'm shallow, shallow_

_But all I see is all eyes on me_

All eyes are on us, and I wish we could stay here forever. I wish the storm never calmed.

“Boys,” Luke starts.

“And girl!”

“I was _getting_ to that part!”

“All right, all right, go on.”

Once again, we’re back at the couches, where we began. Rain is pouring mercilessly, fat drops sounding on the roof and windows, thinly veined with bright blue and purple lighting. Julie’s checking her Insta feed again, but with way less urgency. If planes start flying by morning, she can still make her award ceremony in the nick of time. I hope she does.

I stifle a yawn; a full-blown performance at two am is one of those things that tire you out.

Luke doesn’t seem to be sharing my problem, though – he looks like he’s preparing for a speech.

“Boys … _And girl_. It is clear destiny has brought us together into this small, expensive European airport for a reason. I’ve been racking my brain, trying to figure out what we must do to fulfill our fates …”

“Will you _spit it out_?”

“I’m in the middle of a _monologue_ , Julie.” She doesn’t grace him with a response, only scoffs affectionately.

“And the answer is painfully obvious, presented to us by our – or, Julie’s – adoring fans: we must, in order to – to say it in the words of the great Caleb Covington –”

“May he rest in peace, gone but alive in our memory.”

“Yes, Reg, but still – monologue. Where was I?”

Alex is two seconds from losing his mind.

“In the words … Right. If we want to, in the words of Covington, cross over, you know, into the rest of our lives … We must start a band.”

He can see Julie trying to figure out a way to say “Dude I already have a career,” without breaking his heart, as well as me, so he quickly clarifies: “Not like, a _band_ band. Just … A little airport band. You know, to pass the time. We must bring _Julie And the Phantoms_ to life.”

“We are _not_ naming our imaginary band that!”

“Fine, buzzkill. If you don’t want to be the star, we shall come up with something more eloquent and sophisticated."

I can almost see Julie holding herself back from strangling him, but damn, this kid can talk.

“So … You just want to jam. Like, that’s it. You want to play some more music.”

“Well, when you say it that way …”

“When she says it that way, she’s right,” Alex cuts in. “But yeah, I’m in. Let’s play.”

I am _loving_ how this is playing out. I could sit for hours just watching the dynamics between these three; if we met in “real life”, we’d probably be at each other’s throats in two minutes, myself included.

But, alas, strange occurrences … No harm in having some more fun.

“So,” I start, smirking, “How _should_ we name this band?”

As expected, this results in general discourse. Julie firmly denies Alex’s proposition of “Whisper Cats”, and even my genius idea – “Big Wonzo”. Tell me that doesn’t have a nice ring to it.

I actually like Julie’s name – “Midnight Madness”. It has a nice ring to it and is pretty fitting for what we’re doing right now, which is … Well-past-midnight-madness.

But Luke keeps shaking his head. “You’re not taking this seriously. Lucky for you, I just had the best band-name idea ever: Sunset Curve.”

We are not as thrilled as he expects us to be.

“People are gonna think it’s Sunset Swerve,” Alex complains.

“What _people_? This isn’t a real band!” Wow, Julie sure is a bummer about this one.

“Julie, you wound me. It’s real in my heart.” I chime in.

“Thank you, Reggie.” Luke nods my way. “And they will _not_! Alex, stop being a negative Nancy.”

“Oh my god, you’re _such_ a dork.”

“Sunset Swerve doesn’t even make any sense.”

“And Sunset Curve _does_?”

“Yeah, it’s like … We’re in this storm, and it’s brought us together, but once it’s over … A sunset will … Curve?” He’s really gotten into this story and won’t stop now. I can see he bullshits his way through a lot of arguments. Respect. “Curve over the sky, like our music.”

“Curve? Our music will _curve_?” The hypothetical lead singer looks like she’s ready to walk away on our stupidity this second.

“And besides … Sunsets are at night. It’s morning right now.” Alex and his _facts_.

I jump in: “It’s the thought that counts. And Sunset Curve ‘s a cool name. You know, for an airport band.” This makes Julie puff out her breath, chuckling.

“All right. Sunset Curve it is. Although I still like Midnight Madness better.”

“Maybe a debut album title.”

“Right, right, of course. So, what’s our mission?” We all look at Luke expectantly, and his eyes adopt a mad glimmer. This is going to be fun.

“Well, we just have to write the best song to ever be written at an airport.”

It soon becomes clear that, in Luke’s world, “writing the best song to be written at an airport” means standing up on the couch (“We’ll wipe it down afterwards, Julie.”), him shredding his guitar, joining us in screaming random words towards the sky (or, airport ceiling), skiting like mad people.

“Okay!” Julie yells, breathless, hair a wild mess. In this light, with curls of brown sticking to her temples, in a plain t-shirt and light-washed mom jeans, she doesn’t look like Julie Molina With Three Chart-Topping Albums or Julie Molina Who Inspired Me To Start Writing Songs, she only looks like Julie, my friend from the airport, Julie who helped Alex when he had a panic attack, 18-year-old Julie, commanding us to “Come up with some lyrics, people!”

So, we do. Or at least, try.

The melody Luke’s playing is catchy, and I wonder if he came up with it. He has talent, that much is obvious from his EP. I briefly ponder why he hasn’t shown his songs to Julie yet – she would have loved them. Perhaps they’re too personal; fine to show to a guy you barely know, but not a girl you like.

Alex is standing up straighter, gesturing for us to stop skiting. Then, in his deep, soothing voice, he starts singing:

“ _There’s a lump in my throat_

_A storm’s in the sky_

_I’ll miss what we almost had.”_

And just like that, we have a song.

“ _It’s a long way down_

_But baby we’ll fly_

_Don’t need a parachute_.”

Luke is smiling while singing, a goofy, toothy smile, and I join:

“ _My window seat ‘s got a front row view_

 _To what will be greatness or defeat_ ”

Finally, Julie’s rich singing sounds, and Sunset Curve is a complete set:

“ _Lighting rips apart my soul_

 _A feeling so thrilling and new_ ”

The lyrics are random, and the rhymes scattered, but we sound good. Even here, even now, we sound good.

“ _Through the looking glass_

_The ground is closing in_

_Baby it’s too late for us_ ...”

And I’m out of it. “Julie?”

This is obviously not how the girl writes her songs. “Uhhhh, ‘My best friend’s name is Flynn’?”

“That’s terrible!” I laugh, and she laughs with me. “What about … ‘ _This had been but a dream_.’”

“At least mine was a full rhyme!”

“Shut up, you two! We’re songwriting here!” Luke sings-songs to us, picking it up himself:

“ _My window seat ‘s got a front row view_

 _to what will surely be greatness_ ”

“ _We don’t have time for fakeness_

 _We don’t have time to ask questions_ ” Julie’s voice is threaded with suppressed giggles, yet somehow still beautiful.

“ _We’re not taking suggestions_

_You know what we’re singing is true.”_

I wrap it up, and we’re all laughing by then, but nevertheless repeating the chorus at the top of our lungs, and it’s even messier than _Edge of great_ , but it’s also … perfect.

_“My window seat ‘s got a front row view_

_To what will surely be greatness_

_We don’t have time for fakeness_

_We don’t have time to ask questions_

_We’re not taking suggestions_

_You know what we’re singing is true!”_

We were so immersed in the song, we didn’t even notice a small crowd of people gathering nearby, now clapping and whistling. Without thinking, we grab each other’s hands, bowing awkwardly, still glowing from the performance. Things are happening today I never dreamed could be possible.

It’s quiet for a while, the hum of guitar still resonating through the air, the high of playing simmering under our skin.

Alex is the first to speak. “We’re doing this for real, aren’t we?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> the names for the band are actually from one of those "did you know" yt videos about jatp and are real alternative names for sunset curve. which i find kind of funny. we can all agree sunset curve was the best option.  
> also. i'm aware that's not really how songs are written. but you have to admit the vibes are pretty great.


	8. Julie

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> this was supposed to be short and sweet and now it's neither

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> okay so i wrote this entire 4k+ monstrosity in one evening with a single break and did not have the mental or emotional capacity to edit so it's probably a hot mess. regardless, it's here - the wrap up to window seat.

JULIE

“They’re asleep.”

Luke’s voice almost startles me into falling off the couch.

“I thought you were asleep, too.” It’s almost 4am now; the world is turning light blue underneath the clouds. Rain is still tearing them apart, drop by drop by drop, a veil keeping us where it’s safe and warm and … Wonderful.

Reggie and Alex are snuggled against each other opposite of us, having dozed off at some point. Conversation died down about an hour ago, the thrill of music and the unknown wearing off.

We talked, drowning out thunder and our anxiety, about movies and singers, home lives and friends. About Sunset Curve.

Thinking about it in the dimmed quiet, it all seems insane. I already _have_ a successful music career – I can’t jeopardize that because I want to hang out with friends, try something new. And yet, it feels like the right thing to do. I’ve seen the feedback on my social media, heard the way our voices blended into harmony. More importantly, I felt the magic of us playing together, tasted how it was to fly, melt into music not to escape, but to enhance what it was like to live. I’ve seen the smiles on the boys’ faces.

My music has always been linked, intertwined with my grief for Mama. It helped me stay afloat during that first year, when nothing was real and the world was drowned out by white noise, my ribcage filled with cotton balls, suffocating me from within. It let me ask questions I didn’t know how to put into words, held my hand as I picked myself up once more, laughing for the first time in years.

I’ve sung my sadness out, shown my battered, bloodied soul to the world. I’ve wondered and cursed and yelled, I’ve torn my fingers to shreds on the piano, broke my voice into a million shards of glass to be able to breathe again. I’ve woken up, opened my eyes, and stood tall, stood all by myself. I’ve done what I could have.

Maybe it’s time to share it with someone else. Maybe it’s time to use music not to be bled dry, drained of my grief, and filled back with butterflies, stitched together with golden thread; but to sing because I want to, play because it feels right and fun and liberating, to allow myself the living not limited to the little glass coffin my grief has put me into.

For a coffin decked in butterflies is a coffin regardless.

“Couldn’t shut my mind down,” Luke responds, pulling me out of my thoughts. “Too much happening today.”

That, we can agree on.

“Do you believe in fate?”

He props himself up on his elbows, turning so he faces towards me. Nothing but a silhouette and a pair of eyes, gleaming through the semi-darkness. “Yeah, yeah I do. After this day, I do.”

“And before this day? If nothing extraordinary happened to you, no sign, would you have believed there was some grand plan for all of us?” I don’t even know where all of this is coming from. But he’s here, and my mind is so, so tired of running, and I need to talk. I need to breathe.

He seems to consider for a second, before proceeding to roll off the bench onto the ground, then picking himself up.

“I see you’re taking the situation very seriously.” But he only snorts a laugh, extending a hand. “Come on.”

The halls are eerily quiet, our footsteps the only sound echoing from empty wall to wall. It’s a good kind of peacefulness, a calming one. Luke’s hand is still entwined with mine as we run, only he knows where to.

Passing groups of sleeping people, crammed onto couches and benches, he stops short at a glass wall, overlooking the runway.

“Look outside. Look at this darkened sky, look at the rain pouring. Look at us, here: two strangers holding hands while the blue is ripped apart. Do you know how the universe had to align to make this happen?”

“But that’s not fate. You’re talking about chance, about coincidences.”

“The biggest mistake you can do is think one is separated from the other. Coincidences happen all the time, except they’re not important – a coincidence is seeing a stranger in a store wearing the same shirt as you, bumping into a teacher in the street. Fate is playing together in a Parisian airport. Fate is a coincidence that changes your life.”

“That was … A lot.”

He bursts out laughing and I have to join. It’s ridiculous; this whole thing is ridiculous.

“Yeah, I don’t know what was up with that. I was making it up as I went, trying to impress you or something.” Oh. _Oh_. “But there’s your answer, I guess: I do believe in fate, maybe just not in a way other people imagine it.”

His answer is not what I expected, but I like it. It makes fate seem less daunting, more liberating. Not a once-in-a-lifetime event, but rather small droplets in the ocean of your life, pixels forming a bigger picture.

When I tell him that, he smiles, telling me he likes my interpretation. “What about you, Julie? Do you believe in fate?”

I don’t have to think before telling him the answer: “I don’t care anymore. All I know is if there is a fate, I hate it.”

His eyes seem to grow larger at that, and I realize he probably knows about Mama – Alex must have told him or something like that.

“Right, your … Your – ”

“My mom, yeah.” No point in not saying the words; I’ve learned a long time ago that doesn’t make them any less real.

“I’m so sorry.” He seems genuine. Not for the first time, I wonder what’s his story – he’s only ever mentioned his early childhood, the unimportant stuff. “I don’t really know what to say.”

“You don’t have to say anything,” I respond, perching myself up on the wide windowsill, tucking my knees close. “It wouldn’t change a thing.”

Despite knowing him for mere hours, I’ve picked up on a nervous habit of his – he chews his lip while picking the callouses on his fingertips. I can see him doing that now, clearly uncomfortable.

I’ve had my fair share of Dead Mom Conversations in these past three years, so I start talking again, hoping to alleviate some of the tension from the air.

“She was a musician, you know. Helped me write most of my earlier songs.” Luke’s head perks up, listening carefully, so I continue: “She was the one who got me into music, and when she died, it shattered me. I was only sixteen, and I couldn’t take it, couldn’t cope with the grief.”

I’m sharing more than I usually would, but somehow, it doesn’t feel wrong, or intrusive. Luke’s a good listener and it’s actually … Nice, to get this off of my chest. It’s been a while since I’ve really talked about her.

“My dad did all he could, for me and Carlos, and Flynn and Carrie were with me every step of the way. At first, it didn’t do much good, because I wouldn’t speak to them about it, or sing again, or do much of _anything_ , for that matter. But they were there, and it helped a little, going on. They got me to play music for the first time again three months after, and it was as if a dam broke. Music was a catalyst for me, a way to feel my grief fully and put it in lyrics, in sounds.”

It was how I wrote my first album. Of course, it wasn’t an album back then, only pages and pages of ink, hours and hours of minor-chords on the piano. It became an album later on, when the veil lifted, light broke in, flowing the cotton balls out of my lungs.

Luke doesn’t speak for a while, and for a split second I’m worried I’ve scared him off. But then he lifts his head. “The way you speak about music, about what you feel … I know nothing can compare to what you went through, but you describe it so perfectly, that feeling of turning your … Your darkness into a song. I’ve never seen anyone else understand it the way you do.”

I’m feeling brave tonight. _I’m feeling brave._ “You say nothing can compare, but grief isn’t linear, it isn’t a scale. And not a competition, either. In that moment, when you can’t breathe, none of it matters. Only you, and the black you’re drowning in. Will you tell me? Will you tell about _your_ grief?”

One look at his face, and I know I fucked up bad.

“You don’t have to tell me!” I scramble. “Sorry, I – that was rude. It’s personal.” Even though I’ve just shared something about my own grief I don’t think I’ve ever told anyone before. Not even dad, not even Carrie, who knows what writing music is like.

“No, that’s not … I mean, it is personal, but so was your thing. Even more so. It’s just that I’m an asshole, and you’ll hate me after I tell you.”

“I could never hate you.” Saying this, I know it’s true.

“You could. You could after I tell you that your mom was taken away from you, but I walked out on mine willingly.”

He’s waiting for me to react, for me to cry or walk away or scream that he’s _selfish, so selfish, because he has a mother, and he has a chance, but he decided to throw it away, and for what? What could possibly matter enough? While I’ve been missing Mama every minute of every day for three fucking years, and I would sell my soul and my songs to get her back, he walked out on his own._

I don’t say any of that, though. I simply wait.

And he continues.

“My parents are … They’re great, you know? Supportive, loving, they even got me my first guitar. As a hobby. As a little something to pick up and have fun with after I do my homework and write my college essays and go to the mall with my nice, normal friends. They wanted me to have a nice life and live in a nice house in the neighborhood. Which is great and all, except … When I was about 15, my feelings started to get complicated and everyone annoyed me and school was _terrible_ , and I didn’t understand anything, so I started writing songs. They were stupid and bad, but it helped. Like, a lot. You said it better than I ever could.

I was diagnosed with ADHD later on so that cleared some things up … But by then, the only way I could cope with everything, understand my own mind, was through music.”

“I get that.”

“Yeah, I know you do. I see it in your music. My parents didn’t, though. They didn’t order me to stop, or do anything terrible, they just _didn’t understand_. How I felt, how playing music felt, anything. And it was stupid, but I felt trapped, like I couldn’t get a breath of air. Like the world was closing in. And I was angry all the time, at the world at them. So, we fought, a lot. Because my mom has as much of a temper as I do. Until one day, something in me snapped, and I screamed it all out, but it came out of my mouth in the wrong words and the wrong way and everything was broken and my mom didn’t _understand_ , and just like that, I fucked up _everything_.”

Tears are in his eyes now, but I don’t say a word. I try really hard to make my mind go blank.

“I was _seventeen_ , Julie, and I know that’s no excuse, but the anger was too much for me to take. So, I left. Took my bike and rode over to Bobby’s house. I was gonna go back the next day, but … Couldn’t. Couldn’t bring myself to face them. Couldn’t figure out the words to say.”

“And your parents didn’t come after you? They just let you leave?”

“Oh no, they came after me. Even as I left, my mom ran after. Then they dropped by Bobby’s house in the middle of the night, worried sick. But everything was so fucked up, we were all so fucked up, we just yelled at each other more. Said more terrible things. It was all ruined in a single night, and none of us could fix it.”

Luke is full on crying now, finally meeting my eyes. “That was _it_ , Julie. That was the end. Say it because we both know you’re thinking it. Say I’m an awful person.”

I want to say it, but I don’t. Because I know, deep down, the anger that he’s talking about. How it blinds you and makes your body buzz and you just have to _scream_ at someone. How you say things you mean in that moment, but aren’t real.

How you play the apology a thousand times in your head, figure everything out withing yourself, but can’t bring yourself to say it. Because it’s too much. And you hope they understand, but they don’t, and they don’t _have to_ , because no matter the anger, you should still apologize, you should be able to make it right, because they deserve that. Because they’ve been hurt, too. But you can’t, so you stay quiet, and you cry yourself to sleep.

So, yeah. I would claw to hell and back to see Mama again, but I don’t say he’s an awful person, because I understand.

Instead, I put a hand on his shoulder and tell him it’s okay. That I know how much it hurts. That he did what he could, what his own mind allowed him to. that things are never broken beyond repair.

That he should write a song.

“I did write a song. It didn’t help.”

 _Well fucking hell, then write another!_ I want to yell, but stay quiet.

“I wrote _Unsaid Emily_. Said all the things I wanted to tell her, put it out on my EP. They listened to it. They called me. And it didn’t help. Because we didn’t know how to speak anymore, how to tell each other what we felt and mend what was broken. I should have tried again but didn’t. And now it’s too late.”

Now I do yell at him. “It’s not too late! it’s stupid and it’s terrible, but it’s not too late! It never is. You just have to try again, and it fucking sucks, but you have to, because you all deserve to be able to love one another again.”

I see the despair in his eyes. I see the unsaid words: _I don’t know what to say to them_.

“You just have to write another song.”

“It didn’t really work the first time.”

“It did. I’m sure it did, just not enough. _Emily_ is about what you regret – it’s a cleanse. It’s a song for you, to say the words you needed to, but not to her. Write another. This time, for her: tell that you’re sorry, tell not what you wish had happened, but what had really happened. How fucked up it all was. And then, even if it’s hard, you reach out. You reach out and you talk, until you make things right. You try your hardest to explain, but what’s most important is to tell them you’re sorry. You want your family fixed.”

He stares long and hard, into the storm clouds above the horizon.

“Second chances, Luke. They’re there, and they shouldn’t be wasted.”

_First things first_

_We start the scene in reverse_

_All of the lines rehearsed_

_Disappeared from my mind_

At first, I almost don’t hear the quiet lyrics, the faint strumming of an acoustic guitar. And then I realize – Luke is playing his song for me. The song about, for his mom.

The hand in which he holds his phone is shaking, and I take hold of his wrist. Tears are in his green eyes, threatening to be spilled.

It’s a beautiful song.

And I’m so, so tired.

Closing my eyes, I lean on the cold glass window, our shoulders touching. We listen, and we cry, for each other’s mothers and for our own and for us, and for the things we didn’t have to say.

_If I could take us back_

_If I could just do that_

_And write in every empty space_

_The words I love you in replace_

_And every time would not erase me_

_If you could only know_

_I never let you go_

_And the words I most regret_

_Are the ones I never meant to leave_

_Unsaid Emily_

I don’t sleep, but I do dream.

I imagine Luke going back into his parents’ embrace, getting his seconds chance.

The songs on the EP flow one to another, and I think of Alex dancing doing _Super Trouper_. Of his little performance and how Carrie and him will be best friends when I introduce them.

I think of the jokes Flynn will share with Reggie, and how much Carlos will love the guy.

I dream of my life, and how will it be after this fateful coincidence.

Lastly, I think of Mama, and how much she would have loved Luke Patterson.

(I think I might be falling _in_ love with him. And I don’t know what to do about that.)

Skies are a faint grey when the music ends, and Luke turns my way.

“Wanna make Sunset Curve song?”

While he’s getting his guitar, I look up to the Departures board on the opposite wall. It’s almost mocking me, empty of all flights. The word “delayed” is etched into my brain.

Except I’m not as desperate as I though it’s be. This day, or – these to days, have been nothing if not extraordinary, and I wouldn’t have traded them for a hotel from in Frankfurt and stage fright. I realize with a jolt I could still make it to the award ceremony, as long as my plane takes off in the next two hours. Prep will be tight, and I’ll probably have to shower in under two minutes, but I could still –

“Hey, superstar.”

“Stop that immediately,” I advise Luke, who has returned with his guitar strapped over one shoulder.

“It’s true, though,” he teases. “You _are_ a superstar. That’s kind of why I didn’t want to show you my songs. Afraid you’d think they’re lame.”

“With your confidence? Never would have guessed.” He only shrugs, and it’s stupid, because his songs are amazing, but I get it.

I get him way better than I ever thought I would.

“Have some trust in me, will you. I thought the album was fantastic.” It’s like his smile becomes a literal light source at that. “And besides, now everybody will hear your songs. Because Sunset Curve will take the world by a … Storm.” It’s a terrible pun, but he chuckles, and I’m so, so happy.

He scoots onto the ledge just as I slide off, sending me a puzzled look, but I motion him to stay there.

“No, no, you play. I just wanna … Feel the music for a while. Vibe.”

Therefore, he starts playing.

It’s a simple melody and I privately think it would sound even better on a piano, but we can work on that afterwards if something comes out of this song. Afterwards as in LA. As in home, where we’ll start a real band.

It still sounds crazy.

Closing my eyes, I extend my hands out and twirl around. hearing Luke laugh a little, I throw my head back, simply dancing, moving to the music of his guitar. For a second, the world does not exist behind my eyelids, there is nothing but music and the way it takes me away.

I feel his eyes following me, imagine his ridiculous, goofy smile, while he strums the chords.

He’s humming along and it takes me a while to realize he’s saying actual words:

_We say we’re friends_

_We play pretend_

_You, ta, na, na,_

_We create_

_A perfect harmony._

These are lyrics; he’s singing lyrics. He’s songwriting in real-time.

I open my eyes, and he seems to take it the wrong way, because he suddenly stops. “Sorry, I got … Taken away.”

“No, I – That was amazing! How can you come up with lyrics this fast?” I could never do that. I need my songbook, and my time.

“I don’t, usually.” The expression he makes in nearly quizzical. “But this song … Flows. There’s something about it.”

_“Step into my world_

_Bittersweet love story 'bout a girl_

_Shook me to the core_

_Voice like an angel_

_I've never heard before”_

He goes on singing softly, words that make perfect sense, words that cut me open from the inside. He’s right; something about this song feels almost … Sacred. Like it was meant to be written by us, here, as the dawn breaks.

Lyrics come to me like a sunrise – long awaited, but still a beautiful surprise.

_“Here in front of me_

_They're shining so much brighter_

_Than I have ever seen_

_Life can be so mean_

_But when he goes, I know he doesn't leave”_

We’re smiling now, excited smiles because we’re making something real, something … Not _better_ that playing with the boys, but _different_ , otherworldly.

The truth is finally breaking through

Two worlds collide when I'm with you

_“Our voices rise and soar so high_

_We come to life when we're”_

_“In perfect harmony”_

That’s exactly what it is, our two voices threading a string of gold, connecting our roots, our heart, our being.

_Whoa-oa-oa, whoa-oa-oa_

_Perfect harmony_

_Whoa-oa-oa, whoa-oa-oa_

_Perfect harmony_

_You set me free_

_You and me together is more than chemistry_

_Love me as I am_

_I'll hold your music here inside my hands_

_We say we're friends, we play pretend_

_You're more to me, we're everything_

_Our voices rise and soar so high_

_We come to life when we're_

_In perfect harmony_

_Whoa-oa-oa, whoa-oa-oa_

_Perfect harmony_

_Whoa-oa-oa, whoa-oa-oa_

_Perfect harmony_

_I feel your rhythm in my heart_

_Yeah yeah yeah_

_You are my brightest burning star_

_Whoah whoah oh_

_I never knew a love so real (so real)_

_We're heaven on earth_

_Melody and words_

_When we're together we're_

_In perfect harmony_

_Whoa-oa-oa, whoa-oa-oa_

_Perfect harmony_

_Whoa-oa-oa, whoa-oa-oa_

_We say we're friends (we play pretend)_

_You're more to me (we create)_

_Perfect harmony_

The spell is broken as quickly as it was cast, and we emerge like people drowning, gasping for air. This, what just happened here …

“ _Fateful coincidences_ ,” I hear him whisper, and he meets my eyes, that thread of gold almost corporeal between us, as if I could touch her, spin it around my fingers and pull him close, closer …

“Did that really just happen?”

Suddenly, the craziness of it all is too much for us, and we burst out laughing, drunk on the feeling of making magic. We collapse, hands on knees on the ground, laughs escaping lips, deep breaths anchoring us to reality.

“It did,” I confirm. “It really happened.”

We lay down right there, on the ground, in the middle of the lobby. I see his chest rising as rapidly as mine is, and this adrenaline is something I want to feel for the rest of my life; I never want to leave, screw the award ceremony, screw the entire goddamn world, all I need is this airport, and Luke, and _right now_. This moment, forever.

But he’s staying in France and I’m going to Frankfurt, and even if it’s just for a little while, nothing will ever be the same as it was.

“I’ll miss you,” he murmurs, taking my hand. His palm is warm, and fingers calloused and we … fit. _In perfect harmony._

“It’s just one month,” I whisper back, even though I know perfectly well what he means, and I’ll miss him too. I’ll miss us, here, in this bubble where the real world can reach us, where things are simple and we play music and my hand fits into his perfectly and _I’ll miss him_.

“We’ll be alright, you know.” As if he’s reading my mind. “Out there. We’ll be fine, all of us. What happened tonight was … Real, and nothing can change that. Not even the world.”

I hope to God and all the stars in the sky he’s right. I hope I won’t wake up from this dream; I hope my hand won’t be cold for the rest of my life.

I hope the sunset will curve across the sky.

Then he smiles, and I think that maybe, that’s enough to shine through the storm, too. That maybe, we aren’t playing pretend anymore.

He kisses me as the Departures board lights up.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this is the end, except it's.. not. this IS where our story ends, but i have fallen in love with this au and these characters that i have hopefully done justice, so i will do another chapter, let's say an unorthodox epilogue, probably tomorrow. in it i will finally post the edits I've been putting up on my tumblr, work some details out, and see how these characters are doing in the future. so stay tuned for that, but thank you thank you thank you from the bottom of my heart to everyone who read even a chapter, left kudos, commented.. it means so much to me. i am so glad you stuck this mess out with me.


	9. The After And The Before

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> the things you didn't get to see

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> HI QUICK NOTE it won't show the edits on my phone for some godforsaken reason, only works on laptop. trying to fix it.  
> you can check the edits out in better quality on my tumblr @/a-chaotic-ananas they're all tagged under airport au i think.  
> okay okay okay so this was what i mean by epilogue. it turned out way longer than i originally planned but is anyone surpirsed, really. the edits are all mine, and so are the song titles that weren't used/mentioned in the show.  
> this is the end, this time for real. ahhh. i am feeling Feelings. thank you for reading<3

THE AFTER AND THE BEFORE

**_Julie_ **

Julie lost her mom when she was only 16. The day she died, she took Julie’s music with her; it took her months before she sang again, played the piano. It all started with Wake Up, the last song her mother had written for her, and the flood of songs that spilled out of her formed her first studio album. She signed with Starfall Records, notorious for discovering young talent, after putting Wake Up out into the world, and the rest was history.

Rose had always loved butterflies, so Julie developed an affinity to them as well. It seemed only fitting to name her albums after butterflies – _Mourning Cloak_ came to life, the perfect combination of what was real and what had wings.

She put the butterfly on the cover as well, next to her roots.

 _Wake Up_ was about rediscovering music, but _Fallen Petals_ was the telling of what happened before that, of her darkest days. _Carlos’ Room_ spoke about dealing with grief, how her family helped through it; _Northern Lights_ was hopeful, as she sang about the beauty still left in the world. It was the first song in the series of healing.

 _Carolina_ paid tribute to her roots and her mother’s, to a city in Puerto Rico. _Phantom Pain_ sung of the missing, yet still inflicting pain.

 _July_ was – it was different, a song of could-have-been’s; a song about another life, a different life. One less filled with grief, one of hopeful summers.

Julie had always loved the tales of Greek mythology, especially the ones less told. We all know the story of Achilles, but what about _Patroclus_ , perhaps of even greater tragedy? What about the forgotten ones?

 _Mourning Cloak_ told the journey of her first year After, hand in hand with her grief. Yet it ended with _Edge Of Great_ , a half-said promise to her mother, to her music, to herself.

It was almost ironic that a butterfly called _Question mark and comma_ existed – as if everyone had answers, but her.

Julie felt again, but what she felt was anger, and confusion, and pain on pain on pain. She wrote _Bright_ after she wrote the other songs but decided to open the album with it later on, decided to let it be lighter rather than hopeless, because that was what she needed herself.

Some of the songs were darker, though, desperate even. _Constellations_ , around man’s need to make oneself important, but ultimately failing to leave a mark in the universe. _Tinkerbell_ , of the girl left behind, and _A Bouquet Of Dahlias_ – about signs she had hoped for, but never received.

 _August_ dreamed of the summer that still wasn’t real but felt like an escape. Writing about Other Julie made her feel less like herself for a while, and it was what she needed to go on.

She refused to finish _Blue Guitar_ at first – it seemed silly and unimportant, nothing compared to the Void. Carrie was the one to convince her that was precisely what made it wonderful.

(It was a song about Nick, about maybe feeling love again after all the tragedy.)

(It wasn’t love, but Julie was only seventeen. She didn’t know better, and there was nothing wrong with that.)

 _Cotton Candy_ was about Carrie, and _Flying Solo_ about Flynn. She couldn’t have done it without them.

She wrote _Eurydice_ while crying in her garage one night, because like with Orpheus, music wasn’t enough to save her loved ones, and sometimes she felt like it was driving her to insanity.

And lastly, _Finally Free_ – she had made a habit by then to finish off on a happier note. It seemed like the least she could do in this world full of sorrow, to sing out her heart about the moment her music made her soar into the sky.

They say people grieve a loved one for about three years. In those three years they miss this person every day and feeling happy feels like a betrayal somehow. Three years, until life starts to slowly makes sense again, and not every moment is agony.

Julie had told Luke grief was not a straight line, that it was different for anyone, but the three-and-a-half-year mark turned out to be the time Julie started to feel alive again. _Monarch_ was born from the blooming feeling in her chest, like maybe the sun would rise again.

It was Rose’s favorite butterfly. “Just look at its name,” she used to say, “It’s a king, an emperor, with the world under its wings.”

 _I Got The Music_ , the opener, was the most fun she has ever had making a song. It was a collaboration with Flynn, who had just gotten into rap, and it marked the beginning of a new era, followed by _September_ , bringing an end to the summer of what-ifs. She didn’t need it anymore.

She did write more songs of made-up stories, though. _Pacific Ocean, Cherries_. The difference was, the didn’t wish to be the person she was singing about anymore – she was okay with being herself again.

 _Medusa_ was passionate, and groundbreaking, and her contribution to making women’s voices heard. She watched Carrie with Dirty Candy, saying what she wanted to say, making herself heard, and decided to tell the story of a victim turned into a villain by men.

She still wrote about her mom – “ _Nobody gets to call me mariposa anymore_.” _Mariposa_ was about missing her, but also going on without her. It was a song of recovery. _Stargazing With Mama_ and _Playa Isla Verde_ hurt, because it always hurt to remember her childhood. But they were also beautiful, about her fondest memories, and she wanted to give them a forever.

 _LA Sunrise_ was a beautiful new beginning and _Stand Tall_ was another promise.

She won her category at _Up and Coming Worldwide_.

**_Carrie_ **

Carrie loved her father.

She loved the opportunities presented to her, the doors opened, the universe at her fingertips. Sometimes, though, she wished she didn’t have them all; she wished to know if she could have done it on her own.

Dirty candy was the logical route to take, something almost expected of her – big, flashy, demanding attention. She made it her own, and she loved every second of it, but she couldn’t help thinking something was … Missing. Or perhaps something was too much.

 _Wow_ was an album about loving yourself, embracing yourself as you are, and finding your strength. It was about finding one’s voice, and the message was there, but it simply wasn’t the direction she wanted to take.

 _Roses_ was the odd one out. It was about the mother Carrie lost, too, the only one she had since her own abandoned her as a child.

Therefore, the night of the graduation party, their last performance, she officially disbanded Dirty Candy. It was a move long coming, since they were all off to colleges across the state – she herself stayed in California, but Kayla had gotten into the choreography program at Julliard, for example.

Carrie came out as lesbian sophomore year. She briefly dated Nick in middle school, but it was all for show, and Julie liking him was the perfect excuse to call it off – their remained best friends after that. The one true love of her teenage years was Kayla, and sometimes it baffled her how long it took her to realize what she felt.

When they broke up after senior year, she brought out her song journal, filled with songs over the years. Not Dirty Candy material, but personal, different. She worked on them, and she wrote many, many new ones.

It was Julie’s turn to hold her hand. She and Flynn helped produce the songs she wrote, publish them independently – it was the final step to becoming the person she wanted to be, to step out of her father’s shadow. _Sappho_ was born.

It was a celebration of femininity, of simplicity, and love in every form. First song – titled _Sappho_ as well – was exactly about that. Embracing the love in your heart and letting it flow through you.

She even took a page out of Julie’s book and wrote _Daphne_ – the forgotten victim, robbed of justice.

Mostly, though, she wrote about Kayla. _Brown Eyes, Hands Entwined, Love Letters_ – those were beauty. _Shards Of Glass_ was heartache; _Calloused Heart_ the rawest pain of their breakup. Just like her best friend, she put her grief in music, too: in _Bleach, Blood and Honey, Empire_.

She would be alright. She always was.

The EP topped charts. Carried smiled with her eyes for the first time in months.

**_Luke_ **

Luke didn’t start putting out music right away. It was his true loves, yes, and a coping mechanism, but he never saw it as a career path. He wrote a lot of songs after leaving home, and it was Bobby who convinced him that maybe, something good could be made of them. Something to leave his mark in the world.

Reggie described it perfectly on the plane – the angry, the powerful, the loud: _Now or Never, My Name Is Luke, Long Weekend, Chili On Hotdogs_. The in-betweens: _Hercules, Get Lost, Coup de foudre._

(That one was about Rachel, his first girlfriend. It didn’t work out.)

Lastly, the sorrowful: _Unsaid Emily, Birthday Candles, Christmas_. As in the Christmas he ran away.

It was his naked, sun-bleached skeleton, shown to the world. But the world didn’t want it enough.

**_Bobby_ **

He left LA to get away from it all. In Paris, he found the anonymity was what he needed to finally realize what to do, where to go – he picked up some of Luke’s habits, and wrote songs. Many, many songs. His EP was half joke, half serious, but it did better than anyone could have predicted. It had some Twenty-one Pilots motives, some rock, some simple poetry he had been writing, accompanied by a melody.

Perchance music had been exactly what he needed all along.

Maybe it was his disdain toward LA people, that appealed to the European audience – _headache, radium, gunpowder & cinnamon, pardon my french._

(To be honest, his French _was_ pretty terrible those first few months. that wasn’t all the song was about, though.)

Maybe it was the coming-of-age aspect of it all, the finality of _eighteen_ , the fear of _cyanide_ , hopefulness, longing of _next flight_.

Or maybe it was the love songs; people have always liked love songs. _saturn, eyelashes_ and _no more flowers_ weren’t all entirely real, but that wasn’t something the audience had to know.

**_Luke. Bobby._ **

_Unbreakable_ was an album to merge Luke’s loud, rock sound of _To_ _Die For_ and Bobby’s signature stamp in _Bisous_. It was fun to write, fun to record, fun to produce. They both knew it was a one-time thing, but they made it great, nevertheless.

Their songs were serious and joking, powerful and soft. _Unbreakable, Odd Numbers, Poison, Olympus Has Fallen, Loki, Milky Way, Purple_. It was something new, fresh, unseen, and Luke was right when he said it would skyrocket him. Watching the numbers rise, drinking real, authentic French champagne that probably cost more than his rent in Bobby’s studio, the boys laughed and laughed and laughed and Luke was exhilarated.

He FaceTimed Julie the night it came out and she told him she loved the music. The starts were aligning, finally. 

They devised _Aurora Borealis_ about wanderlust, about the want for more. Luke would later learn that Julie wrote a song called _Northern Lights_ , too. Fateful coincidences.

 _Unbreakable_ had one more song than originally planned. _Tell Mom I’m Sorry._

He talked to his parents twice that week.

**_Julie. Luke. Alex. Reggie._ **

Sunset Curve was their gift to themselves.

They started meeting up, writing, playing, as soon as they were all back home. There were meetings with Julie’s manager, the record label that signed her, with Flynn, the band’s new social media manager. There were lunches with Carrie, and Reggie’s sisters. There was a friendship between Carlos and Chiara, Alex’s little sister. There was Ray with spaghetti waiting for them.

There were Mitch and Emily, listening to them play one night.

They posted _Window Seat_ – a polished, worked on version – on Spotify as a single, and the rest is history. It wasn’t just wishes and dreams anymore because people loved it, and they wanted more.

So, they gave them _Midnight Madness_. A real, full-blown studio album under Starfall Records. Julie kissed Luke when he suggested the title.

 _Perfect Harmony_ was on it, and _In Your Starlight_ , another love song, written by Alex. _Home Is Where My Horse Is_ featured Reggie as the lead singer.

(Nobody complained the songs were so different. Scratch that, nobody complained _at all_.)

They dived into modern rock waters with _Crooked Teeth, Late Last Night,_ and _Lakeside Reflection._ Old habits die hard, so Julie also wrote _Orpheus_. It felt different than her other songs, but right regardless. Paris was another memory of their airport adventures.

They contemplated for a long time before deciding to include _Ghosts Of Yesterday_. It was very personal to each of them, describing everyone’s pain.

It turned out to be their second most listened song, right after _Perfect Harmony_.

It took less then a year for them to go mainstream, for fans to demand concerts, for smiles to grow wider.

Sunset Curve opened for Panic! At The Disco at the Orpheum.

And that was only the beginning.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> songs i used that appeared in Julie and the phantoms (some of them were only mentioned, or written on the sunset curve demo):  
> wake up, edge of great, bright, flying solo, finally free, i got the music, stand tall, wow, all eyes on me, now or never, my name is luke, unsaid emily, long weekend, get lost, crooked teeth, in your starlight, late last night, perfect harmony, home is where my horse is, lakeside reflection  
> i also mentioned other side of hollywood in one of the earlier chapters, which is also clearly from the show and not mine

**Author's Note:**

> i don't even know if this made any sense. But. here it is nonetheless. i'm alaso having an absolute blast creating some very specific edits for this fic so expect that when it's over. k bye:)

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [Julie and the Phantoms inspired songs:](https://archiveofourown.org/works/28560498) by [lucky_leo_175](https://archiveofourown.org/users/lucky_leo_175/pseuds/lucky_leo_175)




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